


The Dark Horse

by InfluentialPineapple



Category: Iron Man (Comic), Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Tony Stark, Beating, Betrayal, Gen, Hurt Tony, Kidnapping, Oprah, Politics, Poor Tony, Survive Evade Resist and Escape, The Many Kidnappings of Tony Stark, Tony Angst, Tony Feels, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Torture, Triggers, Violence, Weapons, Whump, and fight, holy shit Tony can shoot, just go with it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:11:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfluentialPineapple/pseuds/InfluentialPineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following a series of abductions, Tony must rely on his own skill and determination to hunt down the man responsible for orchestrating them. Because Fury's certainly useless, and everyone else seems to think he's being paranoid about it, but Tony knows that there's something bigger at play, something devastating, and he's not willing to roll over and let it happen.</p><p>So when an old rival from his past is appointed to a prominent seat in the political spectrum, and the case is blown wide open, Tony finds himself, ironically enough, at a dead end. Even with the answer literally smacking him in the face, there's nothing he can do about it when a total of two people believe him. Unless he finds the evidence himself.</p><p>And that's how Tony becomes the most wanted terrorist in the world. And being on the run from federal agents isn't nearly as fun and exciting as you'd think it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Give It All

This time, when the Chloroform soaked rag was clamped over his mouth and nose, guided by a huge, ragged hand, panic had not assailed him as was typical in these situations. No, this time, there was no fear, no anxiety, only pure unadulterated anger and severe annoyance. Because Tony Stark was just about sick and tired of being abducted.

Within the short months he'd spent as an Avenger, Tony had been kidnapped twice, excluding his current dilemma. Prized for his intelligence, and being generally weaker than all the other Avengers, he was a very convenient tool to be utilized by various assholes and terrorists in their ambitious attempts to bring down SHIELD or take over the world or obtain his Arc Reactor in order to unlock it's destructive potential. So far they had all been despairingly unsuccessful due to the quick reactions of his teammates, but what they could never have anticipated was that, once the traumatizing shock of the tortures and abuse he'd suffered had run its course, he'd become absolutely resolute on never letting it happen the same way again.

This time Tony was ready, and he knew with sincere conviction that whoever these guys were, their horribly uninformed assumptions about him were to be the death of them all.

When he awoke in the back of some kind of van, or so he could only assume having been blindfolded with a thick strip of cloth, he quickly cleared the fog from his mind and evaluated his current condition carefully and silently, not wishing his captors to become aware of his consciousness just yet. He knew immediately that his wrists were handcuffed behind his back and that an uncomfortable amount of duct tape sealed his mouth shut efficiently, but thankfully he couldn't identify any injuries. Being rendered blind and mute was high on his list of worst fears, but he squashed the feeling of panic that lingered in the back of his mind and molded it into adrenaline. He would need adrenaline.

His feet were not secured and when he felt movement to his left he kicked out as hard as he could from his prone position, feeling the satisfying crunch of his foot colliding with some poor fool's face. There was a loud howl that made him grin beneath the tape.

"Little shit broke my nose!" A man screamed and suddenly hands were on him as Tony bucked wildly and dangerously, a hurricane of flying appendages. He counted six hands, so assuming the man who's face he'd just renovated was not assisting in restraining him, there were four people in this van, plus one driver. Five individuals all together.

He'd faced worse odds, he supposed.

They were scrambling to control him, their grasps painful and rough, as they shouted orders at each other. Tony continued to flail, lashing out with whatever wasn't currently hindered. Someone punched him hard in the ribs and he instantly ceased his blind thrashing with a muffled grunt of pain, breathing fast through his nose when the blow left him winded. Perhaps he should have stopped the minute he'd counted the people in the van, but he had boundless energy and he wanted to use it while he was still somewhat unharmed. Every hit he landed now was a potential advantage and he knew he would not have such a luxury later on.

"I wouldn't do that again if I were you." A gruff voice warned him, and he begrudgingly heeded this suggestion. Hands remained on his body through the remainder of the ride, holding him down, heavy and unrelenting and he couldn't help but recall the horrors of his previous stints of captivity, particularly the illegitimate surgery he'd had the pleasure of experiencing while awake. His heart rate quickened, the familiar feeling of helpless violation all-encompassing and he had to convince himself that continuing to present a docile exterior was his best bet at avoiding further pain and injury.

The van slowed about twenty minutes later and pulled into what he assumed was some sort of garage when he heard the protesting screech of something large and metal being lowered. Doors were slammed open and Tony was jostled as he was pulled unceremoniously out of the hatch and placed on his feet. He stumbled slightly, disoriented by the blindfold and unbalanced without the capability to steady himself with his arms, but was able to contain it quickly. Men were on either side of him, gripping his biceps and he was forced to walk blindly forward.

He counted his steps exactly as he had done so long ago. Thirty, enter door, turn right, twenty three, turn left, enter door, trip and wobble uncertainly up four fucking flights of steps as idiots laughed at him, exit stairwell into hallway, turn left, fifty three paces forward, turn right, forty five paces forward, turn left into room, five paces, forced roughly into chair. Shouldn't be too difficult to remember.

Tony felt the handcuffs being manipulated and one of his wrists was freed but before he could make use of the opportunity, all four men from before were holding him down again, taking every precaution against another outburst. When the cuff was snapped back across his wrist, he found he could not lift his arms leaving him sufficiently attached to the seat.

All of a sudden the tape was ripped from his face, and although it hurt extremely bad, as he was certain it had torn some hair out of his goatee, he didn't react outwardly. Inwardly he was cursing these morons to hell. The nasty rag serving as his blindfold was also removed, and he blinked rapidly against blinding light, trying desperately to focus on his captors. This was in vain, however as he could only make out five looming silhouettes against the brilliant spotlight shining behind them. They were tall and wide in the shoulders. He wondered if he'd been kidnapped by the New York Giants.

Tony could Identify the familiar shapes of three M16 A-2 model assault rifles among the blurry shadows before him. None of the weapons were burdened with attachments or scopes, the men obviously choosing to rely on mere iron sites for proper aim. It was quite rudimentary and outdated to be standing there, holding weapons originating from the Vietnam war, and he realized that he was currently in the hands of a group of terribly disorganized and potentially incompetent individuals. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disheartened by this fact.

Waiting in tense, drenching silence, Tony glowered up at his captors' shadowy forms, his body absolutely radiating insubordination. His right side ached distantly and he doubted the hit he'd taken earlier had done any more than bruise a couple ribs. Slowly and silently, he twisted his wrists in the handcuffs and found that the left cuff was significantly less tight than the right one.

The shadows were shifting uncomfortably before him and, although he could make out no facial expressions, they seemed to be exchanging hesitant glances with each other. Tony saw that one of them was visibly shaking and managed to just barely suppress a grin.

"So what should we do?" The shaking form whispered fearfully, gripping his weapon tighter and negligently flagging all four of his buddies as he turned to address them. This made Tony uneasy. Wimpy over here clearly had not the slightest clue what he was doing with his rifle and he knew that an apprehensive gunman could be conceivably fatal.

"Let's just kill him." Came the snarling, nasally response from the larger, second to last man on Tony's right. He sniffed and wiped his nose with a drag of his forearm and was at once identified as the man Tony had kicked in the face. Snots lacked a weapon and he used the extra freedom his hands enjoyed to turn and gesture angrily at Wimpy. "We're already being paid to off him as it is, why do we need to demand a ransom?"

Another assassination attempt to be executed by hired thugs? Tony shook his head in astonishment at just how irritatingly typical this was. Seriously, if you're going to kidnap an intelligent, well-known billionaire who happens to also be an Avenger, you have to be fucking creative and unexpected about it. And even then did you stand little chance of actually succeeding in such an endeavor. This whole situation would soon become just another trivial inconvenience for him, akin to an extra long board meeting.

"Two reasons, you idiot," The one in the middle answered cooly, an average-sized shadow in comparison to the others. "The first being that we have no guarantee that he'll actually pay up. The second? We have Tony Stark at our mercy! We should take advantage of this opportunity and try to get more money out of SHIELD." Tony could sense an aura of command and relative intelligence emanating from this one. He was obviously the brains of the operation.

"That's a good idea, dude." Said the ass-kisser next to him, who also held a rifle. The fifth man remained noticeably mute, shifting his own weapon in his hands impulsively.

Brains turned to Ass-Kisser and nodded his approval. "See? At least someone else has common sense."

"No. No, no, no, no. I don't like this." Wimpy piped up, shaking his head and looking directly at Tony who offered him a petrifying glare in response to his unease. He began twisting his left wrist in it's loose cuff, concentrating all he had into not making it noticeable. "The Avengers will come and fuck us up, man. You saw what happened to those other guys."

Snots groaned loudly and cracked his knuckles in irritation. "So let's just kill him, take that stupid thing out of his chest as proof and disappear to South America with our reward. We already had a plan, let's stick to it!"

"Look, I'd rather have the guarantee of more money than risking the possibility of none." Brains elaborated. "Even if Nick Fury doesn't want to pay up, Virginia Potts would give us what we want in a heart beat, as soon as she's seen what we did to lover boy here."

Tony's ears perked at this and his menacing gaze turned to focus on Brains, lips curling into a sneer. Mentioning his beautiful, perfect Pepper and suggesting to drag her into this was an unacceptable no-go that left him feeling infuriatingly violated.

"He makes a good point." Ass-Kisser said. "We're here, we've already got him. It can't hurt to take advantage of the situation. What do you think?"

They all turned towards The Mute who supplied them with an indifferent shrug.

"But the longer we keep him here, the more chance there is of SHIELD finding us." This time, when Wimpy spoke, he flagged Tony and the inventor visibly flinched as the muzzle of the weapon passed by his face. He was unable to hold his tongue any longer.

"If you keep swinging that thing around, you're not gonna have anything left to bargain with!" Tony snapped, and all attention was turned to him. Shit. He ceased twisting his wrist, which had become painfully raw.

"Shut up, Stark. You've got it coming as it is." Snots threatened. "We're trying to figure something out."

Tony released an exasperated huff. "I can see that. Is this your first kidnapping, girls? Or are you all just painfully bad at it?"

Before he knew it, the butt stock of a rifle was making swift contact with the side of his face and he released a strangled yell as stars burst into his vision, brilliant and numerous. He spat out a mouthful of blood originating from a fresh wound inside his cheek and his sight cleared just in time for him to watch The Mute step back as he returned his weapon to the low ready position.

"We'll do worse than that if you speak again." Brains said, quiet and threatening.

Tony grinned up at Brains, "Why am I being punished? It's not my fault. I'm notorious for not being able to control my mouth. If you wanted me to remain silent as you morons bicker like you're all married to each other, you should have left the tape-"

He was cut off when that damn rifle The Mute was holding found it's target, this time in his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs and leaving him gasping and coughing. He recovered quickly though, and re-initiated his attempts to free his hand, feeling that this situation could soon spiral out of control if he didn't act quickly. Rubbing his wrist against the cold, unfeeling metal was becoming excruciating, as he felt it break skin. Now, though, the action was easy to hide.

Snots laughed, "If you want to continue living, you'll keep your mouth shut."

Tony rolled his eyes at them, panting. "Shit, between Mute Mary's love taps, and watching the exceedingly long conversation the Sister Wives are having in front of me, I may just die of boredom anyway." Oh man, he was really asking for it.

"Somebody shut him up!" Brains snarled and Ass-Kisser stepped forward, a role of duct tape in his hands. "I don't know why you took it off in the first place."

"Hey, fuck you." Tony managed with a grin and a nod in Brains' direction before his mouth was once again taped shut.

They sat that way in silence for a few moments, Tony working his way slowly through layers of skin as he tried to squeeze his hand through it's cuff and five men watching him and making him terribly uncomfortable. Finally Brains spoke up, "Can't we all agree that we'd like to lay into this guy a bit? Afterwords I'll take a picture, send it along to Fury and see where it goes from there."

The only one who didn't nod in agreement was Wimpy who seemed resolute on staying out of this. "I really, really don't like this idea."

Tony had to agree with him on this one. Although he could handle a beating, having been subjected to numerous, painful and exceedingly long thrashings in the past, his heart rate sped up regardless, and apprehension of what he knew was coming dominated his thoughts. Jesus Christ, he had to get out of there before it turned into another Afghanistan.

"Well I sure do." Snots said before he executed a vindictive pummeling.

Tony grunted and groaned and yelled through the tape as the beating continued, ferocious and unyielding, all the while, tugging on the loose cuff with his other hand desperately as warm crimson seeped from his wrist, lubricating the appendage. Blood accumulated fresh in his mouth and eventually he was forced to swallow it, vehemently biting back the nausea which threatened to send his stomach into a state of rebellion. Goddammit, he hated this. He took merciless blows to his face, his abdomen, his chest, his body being thrown from side to side in the assault until everything ached viciously and his vision became a dizzying array of color and indistinct shapes. Finally it ended, and he was left panting heavily through his nose, his head thrown back and his eyes clenched shut in a futile effort to alleviate the pain.

"That's for breaking my nose, you punk." Snots spat as he walked away, but Tony ignored this, his entire being focused solely on releasing his hand. Almost there...

He vaguely noticed the synthetic 'shutter' sound of a cell phone capturing a photograph. Were these idiots going to pursue extortion through use of fucking SMS?

"Stay with him." Brains commanded and Tony slowly lifted his weighty head so he could see what was happening. "The rest of you, come with me." He exited the room with The Mute, Ass-Kisser and Snots in tow, leaving behind a very hesitant Wimpy to guard their captive, just in time for Tony to utter a muffled scream of agony as the cuff slipped off, snapping bones in it's wake.

'Worth it,' he assured himself as he whimpered quietly, drawing the other man's complete attention. He began to move towards Tony, weapon raised and shaking. And Tony smiled through the agony. 'Totally worth it.' Wimpy had moved just an inch too close...

He sprang then, grabbing the rifle with both hands and pushing it back forcefully into Wimpy's face before kicking him in the chest, effectively leveling the smaller man and leaving him in an unconscious heap on the floor. Acting quickly, he ejected the magazine and counted twenty 5.56 NATO rounds. He shoved the clip back in and pulled the charging handle, loading a round in the chamber, and flipping the selector switch from 'burst' to 'semi'. Really, who uses freaking burst? He ripped the tape from his mouth with a gasp of relief, noting the sticky, blood-coated underside with a sneer before tossing it to the ground and moving out.

He left the room, shouldering the rifle and aiming the muzzle straight forward to focus his area of fire. Tightening his hold on the pistol grip in his adrenaline fueled excitement, he cycled through his memorized steps, and walked slowly and carefully forward through the gloom, knees slightly bent, heart thudding almost painfully against his arc reactor, all other injuries completely forgotten. He kicked the door to every room he encountered open, thoroughly prepared to begin firing at any moment and making sure to keep the iron sites at eye's level. He was searching for them, searching for the man who had taken the picture of his misery-ridden form as he'd sat suffering in that chair. He refused to allow that picture to circulate across the vast expanses of the ever resilient internet. Or worse; end up in Pepper's inbox.

Eyes narrowed, determination creasing his sweaty brow, Tony made the turn into the second hallway and spotted the open, glowing stairwell exactly fifty three paces ahead of him. But before he could proceed he heard the sounds of a conversation echoing out of the entry way, and immediately lowered his rifle, jumping behind the corner he'd just rounded with a rush of cold, prickling fear. Back against the wall, he waited silently, one hand over the arc reactor, trying desperately to stifle it's strong glow.

"God, my nose hurts." He heard the familiar voice emanating from within the stairwell. Snots. Tony kept his mouth shut, eyes wide with anticipation and breathed slowly to calm his speeding pulse.

"Yeah, that looks painful." Someone replied. "It's all purple and swollen. You should get some work done with this money we're about to get." Ass-Kisser.

There were no other voices and the pattern of steps taken gave him the impression that only the two men were currently ascending. Good, that meant one M16. He heard them reach the top floor and step into the hallway.

"That's kind of a dick thing to say." Snots snapped back, voice very loud and very close. Tony clenched the hand guard of his pilfered firearm and took a deep breath.

"It's not if it's true. I'm just sayin'." They were about half-way down the hallway now.

Tony surged around the corner, buttstock of the M16 set firmly in his shoulder and raised so the muzzle met the stunned faces of his two captors. "Scream and I'll shoot both of you." He threatened quietly but sternly. "You, drop the weapon."

Ass-Kisser gave him a hesitant, confused look and raised the muzzle instead with a maniacal grin. Tony didn't hesitate and his bullet made it's home right between Ass-Kisser's eyes, scalp, skull and brain matter exploding outwards, before the man could even react. The lifeless body crumpled to the ground. Ears ringing with the deafening sound of the shot fired, Tony trained the muzzle on Snots, but it was too late. Snots had grabbed the M16 from his fallen comrade and fired a haphazard shot, which missed Tony by mere inches and made him flinch, before rolling into one of the rooms on the right.

"Fuck." Tony also took cover on the other side of the wall, gasping with terror. A few more shots flew through the plaster right next to his ear, sending white debris fluttering to the ground like snow, but the suppressive fire was short lived, and he heard Snots curse as he encountered a jam. Reacting instantly, Tony rushed out from his safe position and entered the room Snots had ducked into. He was kneeling immediately to the right, messing with the useless weapon frantically but Tony kicked it out of his hands, sending it skidding along the floor. Snots looked up and stared nearly cross-eyed into the polished, shiny depths of his impending demise.

"That's why you never use burst. Hands behind your head." Tony said hurriedly, kicking the door behind him shut. Snots complied, clearly terrified and quivering like a helpless kitten. "Get up. MOVE!" he jumped to his feet, whimpering quietly. Tony shoved him toward the far corner and turned to face the closed door, wanting to maintain visibility of the area should anyone burst in. He forced Snots back down to his knees in front of him and crouched as well, effectively using the brute as a very robust human shield. He knew it was sort of messed up, but this was beyond morals now.

"Ok, Fancy Feast, start talking." Tony demanded, words spilling from his mouth quickly as he kept an unwavering eye on the door. "Where are your friends?"

"I'm not saying anything." he mumbled, and Tony brought the butt of his M16 down on his face just hard enough to send him a very clear message. The bruised, swollen mess began to bleed again, and he gasped in pain, hands moving to gingerly cup his broken nose.

"Hands behind your fucking head, I swear to God, you remove them again and I'll remove what's left of your face." Snots' hands shot back up, and tears burst from his squinted eyes. Tony scoffed with exasperation. "You have thirty of my precious seconds to tell me where your buddies are." He growled, and Snots just shook his head, face screwed up with frustration, fear and pain. Tony felt not the least bit sorry for him.

"I don't know! Last I saw them they were in the garage." He relented. Tony bared his teeth in disgust.

"Pathetic, aren't you?" He snarled before knocking Snots out with one swift hit to the head. He quickly searched the pockets of his leather jacket and located a phone, but it had no camera. Not the one he was looking for, but important enough to keep for later use. Right now, he had to get out of there before Brains and The Mute came to investigate the flurry of gunfire.

Quivering with nerves, the inventor made his way to the door, stopping only momentarily to eject the magazine from the jammed rifle and deposit it into a pocket on the cargo pants he wore. He loathed the fact that the door swung inward, but opened it anyway, sweeping the hallway right then left with his raised firearm and breathing a sigh of relief when no one was there to ambush him. Moving more swiftly, he descended the stairs at the end of the hallway silently, the confusing maze of the abandoned building transforming into a simple mathematic equation in his mind as he recalled his steps. Within minutes he had located the garage.

He entered stealthily, weapon moving with his whole body as he scanned the dark, enormous garage, man and metal becoming one entity. There was one more M16 out there and he could not be too careful. He spotted the van he'd been brought there in and an assortment of various boxes and wooden pallets against the far wall but otherwise the room was dismally empty. Something wasn't right and Tony's heart moved to pound in his throat, the darkness making him feel very exposed as his arc reactor glowed noticeably through his shirt.

Suddenly the silence was broken with deafening bangs and he dropped to the ground, low crawling towards the van as rounds pinged and ricocheted around him. Taking shelter behind the vehicle as shots continued to fly his way, Tony crouched there and gripped his weapon tightly as though the molded plastic and iron could somehow envelop him in a protective shell... until he noticed a rhythmic flashing in the driver's side mirror on the other side; The flash of a muzzle as it expelled NATO 5.56.

He snuck towards the back of the van and peered around it's bumper. Sure as hell, there he was, a lone gunman perched atop some boxes, firing indiscriminately at the spot Tony had occupied previously. He took aim, sucking in a couple of deep, steadying breaths and fired upon the conclusion of his final exhale. The man released a strangled yell, and then a gurgle and the shooting ceased. Tony sighed, recovering from the exhilarating and terrifying experience and lowering his weapon in a moment of exhausted vulnerability.

He nearly suffered a heart attack when an arm encircled his torso from behind, crushing his lungs and a knife followed to rest at his neck. Damn.

"Drop it." The cold voice of Brains sent shivers through his body and he placed the rifle softly on the ground, raising his hands submissively. "Come with me. Now." Tony was shifted as Brains attempted to turn him in the opposite direction but this was the wrong move. As soon as he felt the knife at his neck slacken, he saw his opportunity and took it. He shoved the arm holding the blade up over his head and utilized a pressure point in the man's wrist, making him drop the object with a resounding clang.

Brains growled, furious as Tony swung around to meet his captor face to face, noting the large scar marring his otherwise handsome features and the shoulder-length brown hair before he jumped to the side, dodging a punch aimed at his chest. This surprised him, and he mused briefly over how the man knew about his weakest point before a mad scramble for the knife began, both men clawing each other and wrestling desperately. Eventually Tony got the upper hand and threw Brains to the ground, kicking the knife away under the van just before the scarred man jumped up with a snarl and tackled him.

They both fell to the ground in a gaggle of flailing limps, grunting and shouting Brains assaulting him ferociously with a barrage of fists which Tony dodged or blocked accordingly, but he was unable to stop all of them. A few hits landed and he felt warm blood running freely from his nose. Brains' teeth were bared, animalistic and terrifying, spit flying everywhere, and in his rage he didn't notice Tony hook a leg behind his thigh and roll him into a mount that put Tony on top. Now it was his turn.

He laid into this man with all the remaining strength he had, and Brains was unable to keep up as blow after blow smashed his face and cries of agony and desperation escaped his busted mouth. Eventually, he lost consciousness and Tony just sat on him, panting and tired, adrenaline draining from him as though it was leaking from a broken seal somewhere on his body. He looked down at the bloody mess and promptly vomited, disgusted by his own handiwork, yet curiously satisfied at the same time. He was almost positive the man would not live. Gasping and wiping his mouth, he turned back around and recovered the phone from his pants' pocket, relieved to find the picture he'd taken had not been sent to anyone. He kept it for future use.

Standing, wavering slightly as vertigo assailed him, he stumbled over to a door on the left side of the garage and left that dismal building with it's musty smell and it's dead bodies, stepping out into the cool night air. The stars were incredibly bright and Tony stood there and enjoyed them for a moment, realizing that he must be very far from the city to be able to view them so clearly. Extracting the older phone he'd taken from Snots, Tony dialed a number, chuckling briefly at how very antique the keypad looked to him and held it to his ear.

"Director Fury." The cool, hardened voice on the other end answered and Tony was exceptionally happy to hear it despite his annoyance with the man.

"Hey, track this signal and send a jet down here. I need a lift." There was a long pause and he could practically see the director's one eye narrowing in disbelief.

"...Stark?"

"The one and only."

"What the hell happened to you?" he was shocked to hear a hint of concern within that usually unfeeling and placid voice of his. Tony scoffed, astonished at the question and rested a hand on his forehead.

"I'm sorry, were you not tracking me being abducted from my bed? Or does this shit just happen so much that you consider it less than a priority?"

He somehow knew that Fury's fingers were currently working deep circles into his temple. Good, he wanted the man to be frustrated, because that's how Tony felt. Frustrated and angry at SHIELD's apparent inability to keep the members of it's tentative, long-shot experiment safe from the hands of maniacs.

"Stark, just sit tight. We've got a lock on you and I'm sending a jet now." He sounded irate. Tony enjoyed every second of it.

"Oh no, please take your time. I'll just finish the final chapter of my novel. You know, the one titled 'Furious with Fury: The Many Kidnappings of Tony Stark'. Our hero's just about to find out why he keeps getting fucking kidnapped right under the nose of his incompetent boss."

"I'll be sure to keep an eye out for it on Oprah's suggested reading list." the director said, emotionless and the line was cut off, leaving Tony to resist the urge to throw the phone in his frustration. Instead he screamed into the emptiness around him, one long, pained, furious scream before collapsing to his knees, having exhausted the last bit of energy he'd had left. He may have prepared extensively for this, but he sure as hell hadn't been ready.

He began to finally notice his injuries, the ache coming dull and distant at first, before transforming into consistent agony. He moaned, sitting back on the gravel beneath him, his head, chest, stomach and hand all roaring at him, protesting his conscious state. Finally getting a good view of his crushed hand and shredded wrist in the glow of his arc reactor, he wondered how he'd been able to use it at all. The wrist was a gory mess of mangled skin and blood and his hand was swelling rapidly, the purple digits locking up and refusing normal movement. It hurt terribly and made Tony's eyes water.

Broken hand, a few cracked ribs, a ruptured ear drum, multiple contusions on his face, and various other places, Tony languished in the waves of pain as they threatened to drown his mind with the soothing pull of unconsciousness. But he refused it, stubbornly forcing his brain to continue functioning, giving his thoughts sustenance with a perplexing question: Just who had put a hit out on him this time?

He really couldn't think of anyone he'd pissed off enough recently to attempt an assassination. Then again, there were always unnamed dissidents in the world who remained adverse to his controversial path of existence. He didn't necessarily have to know someone personally to unwittingly antagonize them from far away. This could have been anyone's doing, and he hoped the two phones he had in his pocket would aid in solving this mystery.

Miserable, bloody and cold, Tony sat shivering for what seemed like hours, although it could have been minutes for all he knew, until the promised quinjet appeared, descending slowly fifty yards in front of him and landing with a soft thud. Tony winced when the sound aggravated his shattered right ear drum viciously. Clint jumped out of the back, arrow already set in his bow, followed closely by Steve, who's shimmering disk of American justice stuck out of the gloom like a damn spotlight of hope. Tony allowed a small smile to break through his persistent grimace. Screw SHIELD and all their obnoxious secrets. These were his friends.

"Tony!" Steve shouted when he spotted him, and the shocked faces of both men caused the inventor to laugh out loud maniacaly. This was a mistake, he realized, when his ribs shifted with the movement and he finally keeled over, releasing an agonized gasp, clutching his abdomen with his right arm, the left useless at his side. He heard running and seconds later Steve was kneeling next to him and Clint stood guard, keeping his bow trained on the building and shooting Tony curious glances.

"Oh I'm fine, don't worry about me." It was nearly a whisper as breath became difficult for him, broken ribs screaming angrily at him as his chest rose and fell. He couldn't suppress his groan.

"Liar," Steve accused, face stern and serious and he looked so unbelievably pissed as he looked Tony over, a quick glance to identify any grave superficial injuries. "Where are the others?"

Tony smiled up at him. "Inside. Two unconscious, two dead and one who will wish he was dead as soon as he gets a glimpse of himself in a mirror." Suddenly he was incredibly elated, proud of his achievement and his smile turned into a lopsided grin. He'd done it. He'd rescued himself.

Clint lowered his bow and shared a knowing glance with Tony, his own smile huge and uncharacteristic upon the normally placid face. "Training paid off, huh?"

The inventor nodded slowly. "Every last miserable second of it."

Right before the siren calls of unconsciousness lured him into it's cool, soothing depths, Tony gave himself a proverbial pat on the back. He had risen up as the dark horse among his superior team mates and, against all odds, had come in for a surprise finish in first place.


	2. The First Drop

Malibu mansion was no longer safe, that much was certain. So Tony holed up in Stark Tower, amongst a steady bustling stream of employees and machines and sometimes oppressive security. For someone who was such a renowned introvert as of late, it was funny how he suddenly craved company, felt immensely safer when surrounded by people and cameras. He laughed it off when asked about it, not permitting anyone to see his internal wounds, his fear, his anxiety and the panic attacks he'd suffer whenever someone accidentally brushed him in passing. It was funny... really. Somebody out there wanted Tony Stark dead, but Tony continuously disregarded the prospect of death so it was nothing at all to worry about...

And the Iron Man never left his side for more than a second.

He'd resurrected the old suit case armor, revisited it, spent a week repairing it and wished angrily that there was a way to melt the armor out onto him from beneath his skin, but bleeding edge technology was nowhere near advanced enough. The suitcase was bulky and heavy and quite the pain in the ass. Not to mention ostentatious, as the old design had been intended to keep mofos away from him and dissuade idiots from even thinking of trying to have a go at him. Now he required something stealthy, something hidden, something so miraculous it was bordering on magical and Tony despised magic. Something impossible. But for now, the suitcase would have to suffice and he carried it everywhere he went, positive his right arm would soon become enormous in relation to his left from hauling its incredible weight.

It had been two and a half weeks since Tony was extracted from an abandoned textile factory on the outskirts of San Diego. His injuries had been numerous but fairly insignificant in his eyes, the worst of which was probably his ruptured ear drum due to the ongoing speculation over whether he would regain full hearing in that ear ever again. A cotton ball remained persistent in the canal at the insistence of his ENT, diminishing sound vibrations to the sensitive membrane and allowing time for healing.

His ribs, left hand and right eye socket had all been fractured in the assault he'd weathered and the areas continued to sport intense, deep bruising and plagued him viciously with constant, throbbing pain. Technically he should have stayed in the hellicarrier infirmary for at least a few days, but following a heated conversation with the resident director of SHIELD regarding possession of the phones he'd acquired, he'd promptly discharged himself into his own self care and made a hasty retreat to the relative safety of his tower. Fury had screwed up big time with his lack of dedication into solving the mystery of Tony's previous abductions and he'd be damned if he allowed himself to be fooled a third time. Tony had no reservations against playing detective, particularly when the _actual_ detectives failed miserably at their own jobs so he'd kept the phones, locking them away in a safe in his workshop and denying their existence to everyone who didn't wield a bow or a shield.

And now, at seven in the morning, wrestling with frustrated groans against a useless, casted hand, Tony sat at his desk and plugged the first phone into his mainframe using an exploitation cable of his own design and wondering why he hadn't chosen to indulge his curiosity sooner. He smiled when the phone unlocked itself and words appeared on the smooth glass screen, welcoming him. Damn, he was good. "JARVIS, you know what to do." He mumbled, leaning back gingerly in his chair to compensate for sore ribs with a grimace.

"Accessing oracle grid. Running contacts as well as outgoing and incoming communications records through the database." A ghostly blue screen appeared displaying a map of the world littered with red dots which indicated locations of all communications towers currently operational. As JARVIS began his scan, a large text box obscured the image with the word 'processing...'. "Estimating time for full analysis at sixty minutes."

"Really, J, a whole hour? I could hand-type each number into it myself in that time." Tony prodded, settling his feet up on his desk with another pained wince. Everything hurt still, and he was quickly becoming tired of feeling like an old man. An old man with arthritis.

"Sir, in your current condition, I highly doubt you could hand-type a children's picture book in sixty minutes." JARVIS retorted, clearly fed up with his creator's impatience and utter lack of self-preservation skills.

Tony scowled down at his injured hand. His last x-ray had determined that the limb was healing as expected and that the plaster cast, which he had classified as a torture device immediately after receiving it, could come off in one week's time. The hand had merely been fractured when he'd extricated it from the cuff so recovery was swift, but that didn't stop him from regarding it as one of the most miserably hindering injuries he'd ever sustained. Ultimately, he was useless without the ability to utilize one of his hands and learning to do things solely with his right had been a tedious adaptation process. "Point taken." He grumbled dejectedly. "Bring up Fox for me. Let's see what type of bullshit they're spouting today."

A second screen appeared off to the right of the one currently processing data at lightning speed, and a blond anchor smiled out at him from within. Something pertaining to the recent discovery of a batch of cheese contaminated with salmonella was being broadcasted and Tony allowed himself to zone out to it, only distantly comprehending her words through a haze of painkillers and liquor. He didn't even realize he was dozing until a steady rapping on the door to his workshop startled him awake, sending him into a physical panic which irritated his injuries, leaving him bent over and clutching at his ribs with a groan. He glanced to the door and frowned when he spotted Steve Rogers standing outside the glass, smiling and holding up a paper bag and a drink carrier containing two styrofoam cups. With a sigh, he pressed the intercom button. "If that bag doesn't contain some kind of delicious sustenance, the next button I press will be the panic button."

Steve grinned at him, placing the bag on the drink carrier and extracting a doughnut which he took a long, indulgent bite out of. Tony's mouth instantly began to water. "Ok, you've piqued my interest." He said, his desire for the circular pastries hidden beneath tones of apathy. "And I'll let you in, but only because you brought doughnuts. Not because I enjoy your company or anything."

The door clicked and slid open on its own accord, allowing Steve entry. "Was out for a morning run and thought I'd stop by, see how you're doing." He said, setting the bag and cups down on the desk and rolling a chair over to sit next to Tony. "Brought coffee, too."

"I can smell that. Oh boy." Tony said with a smile as he removed a doughnut and began devouring it with the ferocity of a starving man, ignoring Steve's one eye brow raised with incredulous fascination. He swallowed a mouthful and began ripping apart sugar packets, emptying their contents into one of the coffees. "You're a saint, Captain America."

Steve chuckled, grabbing his own doughnut and taking a bite from it with far more reservation than that of his friend. "Wouldn't go that far. How're you holding up?"

Chugging half the contents of his coffee and not giving a single damn about how it scalded his throat, Tony offered a dismissive grunt in response as he set the cup down. "I'm fine. Doing a bit of research." He gestured to the screens before him and frowned when he noticed that the text box which had previously displayed the word 'processing' now contained the word 'complete'. "Which reminds me; JARVIS, results."

"Results are inconclusive, sir." JARVIS replied and Steve jumped, obviously not quite used to disembodied voices emanating from all around him, but Tony couldn't find the will to be humored by it. "The phone contained no records of calls made preceding the morning of your abduction, and all communications received on that day were scrambled, assuming the caller was unable to teleport from Cincinnati to Osaka in seven seconds, that is."

Tony's expression darkened at this and he lifted his good hand to sift through the information collected. JARVIS had spoken the truth. Every call received on the phone originated from a different major city in no less than twenty countries and every seven seconds exactly, the call location had been switched. Tracing the call was an impossibility. "What about outgoing calls?" he asked hesitantly, but somehow he already knew the answer.

"There were no outgoing calls made." JARVIS verified his initial suspicion and Tony took a deep breath, willing himself not to demolish the first thing he could get his hands on. Instead, he set to work replacing the exploitation cable with one that would suit the older model phone and plugged it in, determination written in the lines which creased his face. "Alright. Rinse and repeat. Can I expect the same reprehensible amount of processing time for this piece of shit?"

"Absolutely, sir. For you, of course." Came the snarky remark and Tony scoffed.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, JARVIS." He muttered. Grabbing his bottle of Percocet, he threw a couple into his mouth and washed them down with the remainder of his coffee, vaguely aware that Steve's eyes were burning a hole into the side of his head. He tossed the empty cup into a trashcan, or onto the floor, really, as the trashcan was overflowing and regarded Steve with a questioning glare. "Staring is rude, you know."

Steve's eyebrows were raised and he was frowning slightly, his chin resting atop clasped hands as he watched Tony. "I'm worried about you." He admitted.

Rolling his eyes, Tony turned from him and expanded the screen which still contained Fox News with a graceful wave of his hand. "You and about thirty of the world's top psychoanalysts. Here's one now. Let's watch."

The blond anchor from before had been replaced with a brunet with huge lips. Next to her in a split screen, a man wearing glasses grinned smugly at them.

_"-for joining us this morning, now in the wake of three separate kidnappings in the short span of nine months what kind of mental state do you think Mr. Stark is in-"_

Steve groaned loudly. "Oh, Tony, don't watch this-" He began but he was cut off by Tony shushing him and flapping a hand in his direction.

"No, it's funny. Trust me." He insisted, sitting back and rubbing his chin as he watched the broadcast unfold.

 _"-safe to assume that Tony Stark suffers from a wide array of mental diseases, the most prominent being PTSD-"_ The man labeled as 'chief medical corespondent' answered. Steve was tense in his chair beside Tony.

_"-what symptoms does Mr. Stark display that makes you draw this conclusion?-"_

The pompous little snicker this so-called ' _doctor_ ' emitted pressed a rage button within Tony but he contained it. If Steve was angry, he gave no outward showing of his displeasure.

_"-withdrawn himself from the public eye in a way that suggests he's hiding and maintains a dubious grasp on the reality of the world around him, proudly proclaiming that he's privatized world peace is just one example of this. And the fact that he's been a very active participant in our conflicts in the Middle East paints a picture of him as having a certain sense of survivor's guilt-"_

Steve was shooting glances his way, probably to see how he'd react, but Tony only crossed his arms and continued watching with a concentrated frown. He was used to these sort of things and most of it trickled off his shoulder like rain water. It was still important to gauge public opinion.

_"-back to your speculation regarding Mr. Stark's questionable sense of reality, how do you think he's holding up now after three kidnappings, specifically in relation to his ability to continue piloting the battle armor known as the Iron Man-"_

_"-well I certainly think it's important to ask these kinds of questions, Trish. Stark's waning mental stability and, even more concerning, his refusal to seek professional help is grounds for the American public to start asking policy makers the same thing. Should Tony Stark be in possession of such dangerous technology after what we can only guess were very traumatizing experiences-"_

_"-as you know, many attempts to seize the tech from him have all failed."_ The anchor cut him off, her mock concern enough to make Tony purse his lips in contempt. _"I mean, can the government take his property by force under the assumption that he might do something? Wouldn't doing so undermine the probable cause requirement for such action?-"_

_"-in this day and age, probable cause is an outdated concept. Do we allow mentally unstable individuals access to firearms in this country? All other American citizens are supposed to undergo a background check before they can purchase a nine millimeter. Is Mr. Stark above such requirements? Does his money and influence make him a privileged exception, or should we apply the rules across the board? Allowing him to keep this weapon would be the equivalent of selling a nuclear bomb to someone with bipolar disorder, not to mention a travesty to every American's right to feel safe and secure in their own homes. Policy makers need to buckle down, ask themselves these types of difficult questions and take into consideration that Tony Stark is capable of singlehandedly capable bringing about the Apocalypse-"_

"Mute." Tony swiveled around to find a very red faced Steve glowering at the screen, fists clenched in his lap, jaw working furiously with barely contained rage. "See? Hilarious."

"' _The Apocalypse'_. What a load of nonsense." Steve snarled, jumping up from his chair and pacing the length of space from the desk to the door and back. "Tony, you have to make a statement. If they keep spouting these ridiculous claims... I mean, the military could be knocking on your door tomorrow."

Tony released a huffing, sardonic chuckle in response. "You think me making a statement is gonna cool this shit storm down? If anything it'll just add fuel to it. No, I think maintaining silence is my best defense right now." He watched Steve roll his eyes in furious exasperation and collapse back into his chair as though exhausted. "Calm down, Cap. They've been trying to pump up this rhetoric for years and yet, here I am, still Iron Man." Grinning madly, Tony turned once more to his screens, gesturing across the one collecting data.

"It's just-" Steve paused, sighed, ran a hand down his face. "It's just incredible. How ungrateful everyone seems to be. A few sensationalist news reports and Americans forget that you saved their lives not even a year ago." Tony heard him sigh again. "This isn't the America I went to war for."

"Welcome to the 21st century, big guy. Land of the free, home of the apathetic and easily influenced." Glancing over and noting Steve's terribly mournful expression, Tony felt immensely guilty and his grin faded into a sad smile. "I'm sorry, Cap. It's just the way things are now."

Steve slumped in his chair and his face fell. Watching Captain America realize how the country he literally represented with his very being had spiraled into a media-persuaded cesspool was disheartening to say the least. It must have been difficult, to be resurrected from a state of suspended animation to find that the morals and values he'd fought to preserve had been traded for things like iPhones, social media and raunchy representations of degradation like Miley Cyrus. Tony had the grace to be ashamed of his own contributions to that type of moral obscurity and turned away from Steve to focus on the phone he was hacking.

"How's it coming?" Steve inquired wearily after a moment, seemingly tired of his musings and finding curiosity in something he could have an immediate impact on. Something not yet quite so hopeless. "I'm not sure what happened with the last one but it didn't seem good."

Tony's fingers flew across the data which had already been collected and he cursed when he found that the results were identical. Nothing incoming or outgoing preceding his capture and the few calls that were received within that time had jumped across the globe. "Same thing. Tracing the call origin is impossible." Tony spat, indignant over his inability to immediately crack the case with a few rudimentary tactics. "This guy is good. Whoever he is, he's real good." Steve was watching him with that same concern from before and Tony turned to look at him questioningly. "What?"

"You think one guy orchestrated all three of them?" Steve asked quietly.

Tony was wary of this question. It had sounded doubtful. He shrugged. "Sure, I mean, there's a variety of commonalities between all of them that suggest it's the same person. Why?"

Steve stared at him for a moment. "I think you're paranoid." he concluded.

Scoffing, Tony spun back around to cancel out the remaining data collection, knowing it would come up just as empty as before, and wanting an excuse to tear his eyes away from Steve's troubled gaze. "God, not you too. You're lucky you brought doughnuts, Cap." he muttered and there were hints of disdain there, of intense disappointment that one of his few remaining allies in this fight for his life was jumping on the bandwagon with all the other doubtful antagonists.

Steve was quick to redeem himself. "Not like that, Tony, I'm sorry if it sounded like that. I don't think you're crazy or anything just... scared." Tony forced himself to look at him and found worry there. Worry and pity and somehow that was worse than if Steve believed him to be insane. "I think you're scared and rightfully so but I also think that you're letting your fear cloud your judgement."

"Volume at ten percent." Tony said absently, wanting something else to concentrate on besides Steve's sympathy. The news report about figures of political significance offered a small reprieve.

"I'm serious, Tony. You need to step back and think about this."

And that's when his passion bubble burst at the surface of his diminished composure. "You think I _haven't_ been thinking about this?" He shouted, turning to face Steve in all his bruised and battered indignity. "You think I haven't been dwelling on this and studying this and tearing it apart and piecing it back together over and over? Christ, Steve, someone is out to kill me and you think I haven't spent the better part of my days going over every little detail, forcing myself to recall everything that was said, or- or done?" He was panting heavily, winded from his tirade, and a migraine sprouted in his right temple. Steve was observing him silently with a neutral expression. The tense quiet between them was only broken by the droning of the news anchor.

_"-capital hill, the president unveiled his list of potential candidates for the now empty seat of secretary of homeland-"_

Steve finally sighed, diverting his eyes and focusing on the floor. "I'm sorry, Tony. I just think you should be leaving this up to SHIELD."

Tony released a huff, grabbing his bottle of painkillers and popping two more which he chewed and swallowed roughly. The two he'd taken earlier hadn't been nearly enough. "Sure, SHIELD. Right, and how did those interrogations go? The ones Nicky conducted on our two prisoners?"

_"-secretary Stevens perished in a mysterious car accident earlier this month, vacating the seat and leaving the president with a tough last minute decision-"_

SHIELD had extracted Tony from the factory along with Snots and Wimpy, the two sole survivors in the aftermath of Tony's harrowing escape. Brains had died of a brain hemorrhage before he could be provided medical care... ironically enough. The results of the interrogations had never reached Tony, due primarily to the fact that he refused to speak to Fury about anything that didn't involve the Avengers. Not to mention he had zero faith in his ability to get anything out of them.

Steve suddenly looked defeated. "Nothing. Neither of them knew anything about their benefactor."

"Gee, sound familiar?" Tony snapped, eyes narrowed and furious. "The guys we brought back from the last two knew next to nothing. Let me guess, the reward was ten million?"

Steve nodded, worrying his lip between his teeth and refusing to meet Tony's eyes. "Yeah."

At Steve's dejected admission, Tony calmed considerably. He knew his friend meant well but sometimes, he just showed it in all the wrong ways. "See?" He said, and his tone was lower now, much more controlled than it had been before. "You can't tell me this is all just some fucked up coincidence."

_"-public approval for appointment of Senator Mallory plummeted recently when it was discovered that he was sending lewd photos of himself over text message to-"_

"You're right, I can't." Steve admitted, and Tony sensed that there was something else bothering Steve, like there was a bigger picture to look at. "Tony, Fury wanted me to try to persuade you to turn the investigation over to him. He's concerned that you're gonna get yourself in trouble." And there it was. Steve's eyes darted around the room in his discomfort, and Tony felt he should be livid with him but curiously enough, he wasn't.

_"-and, yes, it's been confirmed that Tiberius Stone, has just been appointed as Secretary of Homeland Security-"_

Besides, Tony had bigger things to concern himself with. Such as the way the temperature of his blood had just dipped into single digits at the mention of that name. "Holy shit." He breathed, and Steve's head shot up, his expression projecting confused disquiet.

"What, What?" He asked quickly, sitting forward in his chair, but Tony could do nothing but stare at him as the implications of what could possibly come in the near future washed over him with the intensity of a tidal wave. "What happened?"

Tony shook himself from his stupor, feeling only a tad nauseous, and forced his eyes to look at the screen. His worst fears were confirmed when he recognized the blond hair, the smug countenance, the false smile that screamed 'trust me, I'm not a psycho' of Tiberius Stone. "I think I know who wants me dead." He whispered.

"Who?" Steve demanded, clearly lost as his gaze shifted rapidly from the screen Tony stared in horror at to Tony himself in question. " _Who_?"

Tiberius was addressing the nation, a speech to reassure the American public of the great things he planned to do to protect the country and Tony knew he should listen to it, but he couldn't dispel the shock that pounded in his ears. He shook his head once, twice, trying desperately to wake himself from what was obviously a very vivid nightmare but to no avail. This was real life and something very real and very ominous had just occurred. Stone finished his speech and exited the podium, ignoring the press as they shot rapid fire questions at him. "Tiberius Stone." he heard himself utter.

"Who's Tiberius Stone?" Steve insisted sternly, and it seemed Tony's malcontent had rubbed off on him because he was clutching the arms of his chair in a grip strong enough to leave behind permanent imprints.

"CEO of Viastone." Tony answered, slumping in his chair and chewing a nail in his anxiety. He hadn't chewed his nails in over two decades. "Morally bankrupt in all aspects. We were friends in MIT. His father and mine were business rivals and after my father ruined his company we had a falling out. He promised he'd extract revenge from me and set out to build an empire." Tony sighed deeply, and rubbed his face with his palms vigorously. "Years later he showed up to propose a partnership with me and, yeah, I looked at what he had, thinking 'why not', but I found out he was doing some really nasty research. Like the type of research that violated human rights. Really messed up neurological experiments." He was rambling, recalling every detail of that encounter with frightening acuity and Steve was watching him intently, brow set with righteous verdict. "Of course, I denied it. Didn't think anything of it at the time and he seemed to understand. But now... how he managed to get into politics I have not the slightest idea."

"So... what do we do?" Steve asked, relaxing slightly now that he understood, but that determined look, the one that told Tony he was ready to kill a certain politician, remained on his face.

Tony had no clue. None whatsoever. It wasn't like they could just come right out and accuse a recently appointed Secretary of Homeland Security of kidnapping and attempted murder. If the nation thought he was crazy now... no, he would need evidence.

"We dig." Tony answered simply.


	3. State of the Union

 

Straightening the collar of his white, Armani suit, Tony glanced around the lobby of the federal building nervously. He probably looked particularly suspect, sitting there on a bench beside the door to Congressman Smith's office, sweating and acting like his tie was choking him, but his Iron Man suit case had been denied entry any further than the revolving doors and he felt exposed. Vulnerable. He thought about its sleek red and silver exterior sitting idly in the trunk of his Audi and willed it to fly to him, to somehow gain sentience and stand beside him as the body guard it was originally supposed to be according to the late Phil.

Phil. Tony sighed, leaning heavily back against the wall. There was literally nobody he missed more than Phil Coulson at that moment. The very adaptable SHIELD agent would have known exactly what to do about the sudden reappearance of Tiberius Stone and would've reacted swiftly. In fact, if Phil was still around, he probably would have solved the mystery of Tony's kidnappings or at least been capable of preventing the third one from ever happening.

He was jolted from his musings when the door to the congressman's office opened and a pretty, young redheaded intern stepped out and smiled at him. He smiled back politely. "Mr. Stark, I apologize for the inconvenience but Congressman Smith has a last minute emergency to attend to and- hey, hey! You can't just-"

But Tony could and he would, and he pushed that intern aside with a small, gentle shove, wading through mountains of documents and the cacophony of ringing phones beyond before he reached a closed door which sported the congressman's name in golden letters. "Georgie." He called, knocking loudly three times. "Your mom says you can't come out and play, but I'm afraid I must insist."

A muffled string of curses from inside made Tony smirk with satisfaction. Behind him, the intern was also muttering curses beneath her breath and Tony marveled at just how much conflict he was able to stir up by merely entering a room. It was a delightful skill of his. He jiggled the door handle and found it locked.

"What's wrong? Don't tell me you're scared, George, we've been through this before." Representative George Smith of New York was the voice in politics Tony always referred to upon discoveries of certain legislation he didn't entirely agree with. Much to the congressman's great displeasure. Tony had a way of riling him up of which no other man was capable. It was a love hate relationship with lots of emphasis on hate.

There was a click as the door opened, and that sweaty, bloated, red face of George's peered out from between the tiny crack. He scowled at the sight of Tony's grin. "What do you want, Stark?"

Once again, Tony invited himself into an otherwise uninviting atmosphere, and he pushed the door open, the strength of his one arm too much for George's entire short, round body to withstand, before striding confidently into the office. "No need for such hostility, I haven't even gotten around to expressing my concerns yet." He dropped down into one of the luxurious leather armchairs and smiled smugly up at George as he rounded his desk with a huff of displeasure.

"I'll ask again, then." George growled, plopping down into his chair with a grunt. "Why did you just invade my office?"

Tony shrugged, projecting indifference, but remaining focused on the task at hand. "I just thought I'd exercise my lobbying muscle a little. Can't neglect it much longer and let it get soft."

George scrutinized him and Tony scratched around his cast, making the hardened plaster very obvious. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. His question contained absolutely zero concern for Tony's wellbeing and consisted wholly of his own morbid curiosity. There was no way Smith didn't know about the kidnapping and this was a weak attempt to drag details of him. Tony knew he looked dreadful. The bruises hadn't yet faded and he'd made no effort at concealing them, wanting the congressman to see exactly how badly he'd suffered. Perhaps it would aid his appeal.

"Oh, nothing of terrible significance." Tony drawled, waving the question away. Putting on the smug billionaire facade typically won politicians over with the efficiency of offering candy to little kids in exchange for good behavior. But the irritated frown George displayed indicated that not much would budge him that day. "But let's not focus on trivialities. I'm here to discuss something of much greater importance."

"Hmm." George hummed out his acknowledgement, tapping a pen idly on the magnificent desk in front of him. "And should I consider it a coincidence that you're paying me a visit so soon after Secretary Stone's appointment?"

Damn, was he that transparent? Tony reshuffled his metaphorical deck and smiled, giving no indication that he'd been taken slightly by surprise at George's quick identification of his intentions. "So you find him just as dismally charming as I do, then?" He countered, fishing for opinions.

Smith narrowed his eyes, as though he was trying to see right into Tony's head. "I think Stone's appointment is in the best interests of this country." He shot back. "The American people have spoken in favor of him and he's scored consistently well in numerous polls."

This was a game, in which both parties were exceptionally skilled, and George had made predictably general statements, obscuring Tony's view of his true beliefs. But within these statements, Tony had detected a hint of animosity, something he needed to capitalize on immediately. "The fact that Stone possesses no prior experience in politics, nor in any of the three letter agencies he has in his command, doesn't concern you, congressman?"

George's frown deepened and Tony was positive that he'd been successful in catching  _him_  off guard this time. "Mr. Stark, don't think I'm not aware of the little tussle Howard had with Stone's father over their competing companies." Smith had shown his hand relatively quickly and Tony put on a mask of apathy at his words. This was exactly how he wanted this confrontation to unfold. "I was directly involved in that debacle, you know."

"Which reminds me, how is Viastone doing nowadays?" Tony inquired and for the first time Smith seemed to react, indicating his anxiety with an almost microscopic flicker of his eyes. "Last I recalled, the corporation was catching fire from lack of funding and had almost  _burned down_..." He trailed off pointedly, allowing George the moment he needed to collect himself. He was sweating a little more profusely now, the droplets glistening grotesquely along his brow.

"I believe Viastone came into some... fortunate money within the last few years and the company has been doing well." He replied, his tone controlled and low and it was obvious he was struggling to keep it that way. Tony's prying was getting beneath his skin and George's gaze wavered to the door for just a second as though seeking an escape route.

"And you remember why Viastone was defunded, of course?" Tony inquired, leaning forward, displaying his confidence and authority. Smith was like a trapped animal. "Questionable human experimentation techniques and the resulting abuse allegations. Things we as decent people have a tendency to find reproachable in nature. Considering these things, I couldn't imagine where this 'fortunate money' would have come from."

Smith dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, avoiding Tony's eyes. "I don't know the details of where the money originated from but I do know that the human rights abuses have ceased."

Tony nodded, disguising his delight at the progression of the conversation behind continued neutrality. "I'm sure. Tell me, why would the American people and in extension, the United States Government, have any interest in a disgraced neurological engineer for such an important position of political influence? You can't deny that the Department of Homeland Security directly guides much of the current legislative process."

George was becoming desperate, fast. "Mr. Stark the President of the United States hand picked Mr. Stone to head the department-"

"Without contention from congress, so I'm aware." Tony interjected, interlacing his fingers and smiling broadly at the struggling Smith who now seemed to be languishing beneath the waterfall of his own body. "And the appointment was made fairly early in the morning, a time when people normally commute to work, I daresay, to diminish awareness of it. This seem at all suspect to you, congressman?"

Smith sneered at him. "These ridiculous conspiracy theories need to be squashed, Mr. Stark!" He shouted, banging a fist on his desk in time with his words, his teeth bared in rage.

And Tony just grinned back, raising a finger in an 'ah, hah' moment. "' _These_ ', being the key word." He smirked dangerously, feeling totally in control. "So there're others who feel the same way as myself? What's going on behind that curtain, Oz? What is it that we should pay no mind to?"

Then, in a sudden switching of events that startled Tony, Smith's anger untwisted itself from his face and was replaced by sad pity. "You really  _are_  as screwed up in the head as they say, aren't you, Mr. Stark?" He asked quietly. It was fake pity and was accompanied by a tight smile. Smith knew he'd effectively ended their little game and he was smug as shit about it.

Tony had no reply for this. Struggling to contain the unexpected diminishing of his restraint, Tony rose from his chair, forcing a painful smile. "Thank you for your time, congressman." He said, with a nod before exiting the office, knowing he'd gotten the information he'd come there for, but feeling defeated all the same.

 

* * *

 

The phones had yielded no intelligence, the prisoners had been just as dull and ignorant as Tony had anticipated, so that left no more avenues for evidence collection... right? Tony tapped at his arc reactor in thought, fingers drumming against the glowing surface as he regarded the locked mainframe of Viastone with contempt.

Back at Stark Tower and sitting amongst a sea of empty coffee cups and paper plates, it took only a second for Tony to convince himself that the deed of hacking Viastone was completely necessary... so necessary that it was on a manual level. Tony trusted JARVIS' ability to hack into damn near anything, but everyone knew that's how Tony typically did it. If they were watching for him, they would be watching for JARVIS' specific signature. Tony had one of his own, and it was one rarely used, and never had it been identified.

He effortlessly retrieved the databases specs and located the line of code which dictated password encryption, altering it temporarily and setting it aside on a separate screen. The mainframe unlocked itself with a satisfying 'Welcome, Mr. Stone' because  _of course_ Tony was confident enough to hack Stone's company under his own name. Allotting himself no more than ten minutes to snoop, Tony got immediately to work, heart pumping fast with excitement and adrenaline as he scoured files, eyes searching for key phrases.

This was his element. Tony was very, very good at what he did.

Eight minutes remaining. "What are you hiding in here, Stone?" He mumbled absently to himself as he proceeded through mountains of data. Finally, he located a series of files entitled "Neurological Enhancements" which he selected. But he released a little huffing grunt of surprise when the file shifted oddly in a digitalized version of a flinch and large red letters proclaimed that access was denied.

Seven minutes and three seconds remaining.

Tony typed furiously, entering code with practiced precision and speed that no one on earth could possibly contend with. In under twenty seconds he had accessed the internal encryption for the specified files and was altering the data contained within. "What could possibly be so goddamn secret that you gotta hide it from yourself?" After all, he was operating under Stone's own username. The implications were astounding to consider.

The files quivered again, denying access once more, and Tony growled deep in his throat. He tried a different combination of code, inserting it into the hard drive instead, an action which would give him unhindered access to every file on the mainframe regardless of security level. Six minutes exactly remained as the processor read the foreign data. It was becoming slow and sluggish as the firewall began to realize that there was an outside attack occurring. Just as Tony was starting to feel wary of continuing, there was a small beep, and the entirety of Stone's dirty little secrets became accessible for Tony's scrutiny. Four minutes and twenty seven seconds remained before imminent detection.

Tony retrieved the files again and opened them, releasing a breath he'd been holding when they actually  _did_  open, and sifted through the contents. He had no time for details, unfortunately and there were hundreds of documents contained within. Downloading anything was out of the question, as he'd already laid eyes on a particularly nasty virus hidden in the hard drive, designed to attack equipment which attempted unauthorized copying and figuratively melt its innards. Well, Tony would very much like to keep his home network intact.

The documents were titled ambiguously, and a whole stream of 'test subjects' one through seventy four confirmed Tony's suspicions that Viastone was still conducting experiments on humans. His stomach rolled painfully, threatening upheaval at the thought and he willed himself not to take a closer look. Nightmares already plagued him as it was.

Three minutes and six seconds remaining. Things were running slower as Stone's anti-virus kicked up, attempting weakly to expel Tony. A document titled 'TROJAN' caught his eye and, figuring he needn't come away from this adventure empty handed, he selected it. Schematics for what looked like a large microchip, about two by two inches, and nearly paper thin popped up. He frowned. "JARVIS, what's the outcome of screen-shotting this?" He asked as he scrolled further down the document.

"Potentially disastrous, sir." JARVIS replied. "Any capturing or reproduction is logged internally."

"Got it, thanks J." Two minutes remained. His heart was ready to escape his chest, and he swallowed it back down. A Single phrase at the bottom of the schematic caught his eye. 'Records thought in real time, specifically internal dialogue'.

And that was just too terrifying to consider. Fear welled up within him and he began reversing his intrusions one by one, hands quivering, breath becoming rapid, heart racing like it was in the Kentucky Derby, until he was completely out, right as the countdown hit zero.

Terrified, he just sat there, mind processing things at a million miles per hour until he came upon conclusions so ridiculously outlandish that he actually had to admonish himself for such thought. Then again... a microchip capable of reading minds? He chuckled hysterically, running a hand through mussed hair in wonderment at the scale of what he'd just discovered. At this point, nothing was truly ridiculous.

Did he dare take the next step in his plan so soon? Well, he'd come this far, there really wasn't much left to lose. And Congressman Smith's unintentional admission had pretty much assured Tony that his next move would prove fruitful.

Hacking the Pentagon was a surprisingly simple task, and Tony had done so a few times before but once again, Stone's looming presence in the world kept him from utilizing JARVIS, so he dove in head first, figuratively swimming in lines of code.

Breezing past the childlike security with ease, Tony identified what he was looking for; a stream of invoices signed off on by the DoD... and a majority of them going straight into Viastone with records dating back to fiscal year ten. This evidence he could copy, and he did so, transferring all relevant financial data into an external hard drive the size of his pinky nail which he placed into a protective case and pocketed once complete.

He'd been up for three days, but fuck it, this was beyond him and his petty needs. He grabbed his wrist bands and gave the command to initiate Iron Man. It was time to break his silence with Fury.

 

* * *

 

The Colorado Mountains were beautiful this time of year. White and frosted like a cake, very few structures stood amongst them, their steep faces and unpredictable weather conditions more than sufficient to deter most prospective land owners. But there was a little known cave in the northern face of one certain mountain that was Tony's current objective, and he landed in it, cutting Iron Man's thrusters and dropping carefully to the ground, aware that one single wrong move could trigger a devastating avalanche. Not like he needed more blood on his hands or anything.

The cave was little more than a ten by ten by ten arch cut into the stone, the inside of it barren and cold, and Tony appreciated the internal ecosystem he'd developed for the suit more each second he stood there, eyeing the external temperature reading being displayed on his HUD warily. Outside, dawn approached and the temprature was dipping into single digits.

He glanced all around him, flashlight on his shoulder bursting to life, illuminating the cave but nothing immediately stuck out to him as significant. Just endless sheets of smoothed rock and the occasional snowflake fluttering lazily past his vision.

"J, you picking up any signals you can highjack?" He asked, too exhausted and in too much of a hurry to play fuck-fuck games. They knew he was there. Iron Man was not subtle. He could practically see them laughing as they watched him spin around like a foolish little top.

"Accessing ground control." JARVIS verified and Tony smirked at the little symbol that appeared on his interface indicating that someone would hear him. Too bad he had to be polite.

"SHIELD Headquarters seventy-four, this is Iron Man, chillin' on your front porch and requesting entry, over."

There was a stream of static and a young, male voice answered. "Iron Man, this is Colorado HQ, be advised that this is a secure frequency, over."

"Then secure it." Tony snapped, aggravation building in his chest. "Is this the part where I say 'roger, wilco' and 'over and out' until your head explodes? Over." Nothing annoyed a military man more than those two phrases which breached proper radio etiquette with subtle finesse. Tony took delight in purposely using both phrases interchangeably around Steve in normal conversation. It was hilarious how Steve narrowed his eyes in a way that promised pain and how his face turned red like a cherry.

There was no answer. Instead Tony jumped as a section of stone directly in front of him suddenly jutted out from the wall containing it and split apart with a rumbling protest of abused geography, revealing what looked like an elevator. He approached it, the echo of his boots landing heavily on the stone and sending waves of agony shooting through his skull from his damaged ear, made terribly sensitive by pressure disturbances during his flight there. His ENT was right. Regaining full hearing in that ear would be miraculous.

He entered the elevator and stood there with his fists clenched as it descended, the hard drive in his pocket weighing him down despite its slight physical proportions. It felt like he was carrying around a bomb. Which was funny, considering how he was currently enshrouded in an  _actual_  bomb and that never seemed to bother him. He removed his helmet when the temperature reading increased to a comfortable level. Forgetting for a moment that the fingers of his left hand were not permitted to move, Tony nearly dropped the helmet, but regained control after a frenzied game of volley ball, before regarding his modded gauntlet with intense dislike. He'd had to refashion a left gauntlet that would fit around his bulky cast, and it looked no less like the club he felt was swinging from his arm.

The elevator halted and the doors slid opened to reveal six severe looking SHIELD agents standing in the receiving hatch beyond. Tony placed the helmet beneath his arm, and stepped out, glaring at each of them individually, daring them to try and fuck with him. "You guys are lucky. I typically don't react well to welcoming parties." Tony cautioned, his tone coated in a film of threat.

One of the agents bravely stepped forward, and Tony looked down on him like he was a piece of meat. He was taller when wearing the suit and he enjoyed the added inches perhaps a little too much. "Mr. Stark, standard procedure, we have to clear you for entry. That means a, uh... a pat down. To make sure you have no weapons on your person." He was eyeing the armor. Tony felt a surge of vengeful protectiveness.

Placing his helmet on a table to his right, Tony spread his legs and put his arms out, the suits mechanical whirs intimidating in their own regard. He held his chin high in defiance and gave them a smirk. "If you can find 'em, you can keep 'em." He challenged. None of the agents moved. The one standing just out of choking reach scowled at him.

"You'll need to remove the suit." he said.

Tony shook his head and drew himself back up to his full height, grabbing his helmet off the table and replacing it beneath his arm. "And you'll need to step aside." He stated simply. "Unless one of you wants a lesson in physics, more specifically, how very little velocity it'll require to hyperextend an elbow." He sidestepped the agent standing before him smoothly and went about his way, leaving the five others to breathe sighs of relief.

Running on pure instinct, Tony lead himself through the base and located the control room easily enough. Fury turned from his screens to greet him with a scowl before he could even enter the room. "Why are you here causing trouble for my security personnel?" He asked in that customary level-headed tone of his.

Tony grinned at him arrogantly. "Actually, they were causing trouble for  _me_." He said, walking slowly up to stand before the large, round table opposite where Fury stood. "And since when are TSA agents customary at SHIELD?"

Fury ignored the question and narrowed his eye. "Why are you here?"

Nick Fury was a no-nonsense kind of guy, able to dish out bullshit, but having no tolerance for it when he was on the receiving end. If he could cut directly to the chase he would, and this was one of those times. Tony popped open a panel at his hip and clumsily extracted the hard drive from his pocket, holding it up for Fury to see. "This little thing contains all the reasons you should be taking a serious second look at Tiberius Stone." he explained with a frown.

Fury looked at it as though it would explode. "And if I place those files onto a SHIELD computer, will its contents incriminate myself or my organization in any fashion?"

Tony shrugged. "Possibly, but I'm sure the contents of it-"

"And did you happen to acquire these files from a classified database?" Folding his arms across his chest, Fury regarded him with a questioning raised eyebrow. "Because I'm positive I told you not to snoop through government systems."

He refused to drop his gaze from Fury's single, visible eye. There was doubt there in its dark depths, and something resembling... concern? "I recall you saying something a tad more ambiguous."

"That's funny, because  _I_  recall something more specific, such as 'stop snooping through government systems'." Fury stated evenly. His composure was solid. "And I  _definitely_  don't recall inserting a 'please' into that sentence."

Tony scoffed quietly, ran a metal hand through his hair, winced when the joints caught on some of the dark strands. "Regardless of how I got this info, it's still something you should take a look into." He insisted firmly. "It contains records of transactions between-"

Fury sighed. "Stark," he interrupted and he sounded so goddamn tired as he leaned forward with his hands pressed into the surface of the table. At that moment, Tony knew that he was going to receive no help from the man. "I want you to go home, take a few months off and come back when get your head screwed back on correctly."

It was so fucking unfair. Tony only nodded, offered a defeated half smile. Said, "yup, sure" automatically, because the last remaining powerful person on his dwindling list of allies had just defected to the other side. The side that considered him a nutcase. Tony  _knew_ that he was right. Shit, he believed in it so much that he'd flown from New York to Colorado on no sleep to deliver intel. Intel which he placed back into his pocket and left with.

Fury had no idea, and probably wouldn't care if he  _did_  know, but he had crushed Tony with that simple suggestion. It was so familiar. It was like Rhodey all over again, telling him to get his mind right. "Goddammit!" Tony yelled as he flew above the mountains, dipping and weaving and not paying any mind to the pain in his wrecked ear or his crushed heart. He was so done with people telling him that he was crazy. It was enough to  _drive_  him crazy.

Tiberius Stone was planning something big and Tony felt like he was the only one not wearing blinders. He wanted to scream. Wanted to show the world exactly  _how_  fucking batshit crazy he could get and deliver on all their speculations about him. But he was above that. True crazy waited on capital hill for him and it was up to Tony to dethrone it.

"JARVIS, route a flight path over to Stone's place." He requested, face set with furious determination. "We're gonna go see an old friend."

__


	4. Kotov Syndrome

Tony awoke with a start to a persistent beeping, having fallen into a much needed slumber, and found himself sore and rigid from sleeping in the suits flight position for so long. He groaned loudly, thinking longingly of the painkillers he'd left sitting on his desk at the tower. "Where are we?" His breathy mumble would have been indecipherable to any human's ears, but JARVIS picked up on it instantly.

"A little under five minutes outside desired destination, sir." The A.I. replied.

He groaned again, flexing the fingers of his right hand to dispel the pins and needles and wishing he could do the same with his left. Glancing down, he found himself flying over a thick forest, the leaves just beginning to change color with the rapid shifting of the seasons. It was beautiful, the reds, yellows and purples blending together like a painting and Tony took a second to admire it.

Good god, his body ached. Like a war between his muscles and bones was taking place.

"I need a break, J." He admitted finally, a grimace becoming permanent across his face while his healing ribs punished him for his neglectful over exertion. "Let's- let's touchdown here. Right here. Just for a few minutes."

"Sir, for once I agree with you, however your break should consist of a few  _days_." JARVIS reprimanded as he cut the suits trajectory and Tony descended slowly into a clearing, his body less than cooperative, limbs too stiff and painful and weak for a graceful landing. He was panting, exhausted, dehydrated and miserable and fucking hungry. JARVIS took the liberty of regaining temporary control of the suits basic functions and pulled off a much smoother landing than Tony could have ever managed in his current state.

"Thanks." Tony gasped and stumbled a few steps before righting himself. The confines of the suit were suddenly very close. Constricting. "Let me out, J."

JARVIS obliged, the front opening with a symphony of whirs and clicks and buzzing noises, and Tony fell out of it onto his hands and knees atop a blanket of old leaves and sticks. Arms quivering violently with the effort of holding him up, and legs refusing to support any weight whatsoever, Tony allowed himself to slump gingerly to his side with a moan. He clutched his fractured hand to his chest, the injury having been aggravated from supporting his weight, and squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and the resulting sweat that dripped into them.

"Should've brought my pills." He ground out through gritted teeth.

"Sir, I think it may be time to consider returning to the tower." JARVIS' smooth accented voice emanated from within the suit with underlying hints of concern.

Tony shook his head stubbornly. "No time." he contended. "'sides, I'm just a little stiff from the flight. I'll be fine." And it wasn't exactly a lie. Already, feeling was beginning to return to his limbs and the agony in his ribs was dying down slowly to a low roar.

"Might I inquire as to why you insist on doing this now?" JARVIS asked, and Tony glared at Iron Man's empty face. "Can this not wait until tomorrow, sir?"

Tony appreciated his A.I.'s concern, he really did, but irrationality stemming from too many sleepless nights clouded his judgment, leaving him blind and reckless and he had no patience for JARVIS' nanny-like protestations. Come to think of it, Tony wasn't even sure exactly what it was that drove him to this risky move. He supposed it had blossomed out of desperation, out of a complete, disheartening lack of further logical moves. Feeling- no,  _knowing_  beyond a doubt that Stone was up to something sinister took precedence over his body's physical limits because he was just one dude as opposed to the millions of American lives which could be impacted by... whatever. And what was it he was going to say to the guy? Beg him not to do something which, at that point, was completely theoretical? Ask him nicely to please,  _pretty please_  stop trying to have Tony killed?

But he had to try. Because at the end of the day, he had to do everything himself anyway, to fight for every single thing he had in life. Including life. "No." He insisted firmly, his aggressive finality hanging heavily in the air around him. "It can't."

JARVIS offered no rebuttal. The forest floor was soft like a bed and just the right amount of sunlight seeped through the trees above, warming him enough that he didn't regret wearing only a thin long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Tony had half a mind to just pass out right there, his days of sleep deprivation finally catching up to him, but knowing that every second he wasted was a precious one was enough to will him to push his tortured body off the ground with a grunt. One unsteady foot found purchase beneath him, followed by the other and with resolution rivaling that of a stern Texas judge, he rose slowly from his squat until he stood at his full height.

Sweat still glistened at his brow and the effort had left him winded but he was standing, if not a little hunched over, and that's what mattered. He took a few wobbly steps, shook his legs out, then a few more until he was capable of walking a straight line. This didn't mean his vertigo and borderline heart palpitations had disappeared, merely that he was persisting through it. Tony happened to be very good at giving the impression that he was totally fine.

"See, J? I'm totally fine." He smiled at the empty suit although he knew he had to look awful because he still  _felt_  fucking awful. He'd read somewhere once that people with chronic insomnia often convince themselves that they function better when lacking sleep. It'd also continued on to say that those people are judgmentally unsound. "You ready?"

"I suppose I have no other option." JARVIS replied with resignation and Tony chuckled as the suit once more enveloped him in its protective embrace.

"Damn right, you don't." he said with a grin, before engaging his thrusters and taking off, flying low just above the tree line.

Tiberius Stone's manor was an enormous residence on the outskirts of Washington DC, recently acquired following the start of his limited dabbling in politics and two minutes later, Tony spotted it nestled in a valley. It was a large, brick mansion with a roundabout out front and roman style columns supporting the massive roof over the front porch. Behind it, an olympic sized swimming pool glimmered in the sunlight, fall leaves speckling the surface of the water.

If there were security measures in place, Tony wasn't aware of them, nor did he care too much because he touched down right outside the giant double doors. He removed his helmet, not wishing to come across as immediately threatening, but kept the rest of his armor on just in case he had to make a hasty escape. Stopping only momentarily to glance over the brass knockers (a pair of elephants sporting large rings through their trunks) Tony rang the doorbell.

And that's when Tony's deadened senses finally allowed him to realize the severity and importance of what he was doing and because of this, he managed to plaster the most hardened look of sincere determination on his face that he could muster. Clearly, this was the perfect time for his 'do not fuck with me' mask.

He wasn't sure whether he had expected a butler or some other kind of servant to answer the door but he definitely had not expected Stone to answer it himself, opening it slowly, grinning widely at the sight of Tony, his very plain black suit fit for politics pressed and neat. "Tony!" He exclaimed, and actually had the brass balls to put his arms out and attempt to embrace Tony, who whipped a hand up to stop his advance with a single finger pressed firmly in his chest. Against the Iron Man, Stone had not a chance of proceeding further. Tony scowled down at him and Stone's smile faded. He was a good actor, Tony knew. Professional manipulation expert, knowledgable of human behavior and how certain actions and words influenced those behaviors.

After all, his sweet talk techniques had worked on Tony once upon a time when they had been very competitive friends. Tony had later found himself the subject of one of Stone's creepy experiments involving a dream machine or some such idiocy and through it, he'd kinda tried to steal Tony's mind. The experience only haunted his nightmares about once a month now.

"Skip the formalities, you know why I'm here." Tony said, voice low and deep in his throat, and he dropped his arm back to his side. Stone looked unabashedly confused.

"Actually, I don't." He said, one eye brow raised. "It's been so long since we've seen each other, I don't know how-"

"I think we should discuss this inside." Tony interjected coldly. "I have zero reservations against inviting myself in... forcibly."

Stone's lost facial expression was beginning to enrage Tony in a way that was absurd. "Of course, of course, please, come in. I'm always happy to see old friends. Even angry old friends." Stone stepped back from the entryway, allowing Tony to step into the foyer. He closed the door behind them and urged Tony to follow him with a wave of his hand. "Please, never mind the mess." He said, pretentiously.

Exiting the foyer, which was adorned with an enormous staircase and a crystal chandelier, they entered into what Tony could only assume was the living room. The reasoning behind why he should 'never mind the mess' eluded him because the place was sparkling clean and. Stone offered him a seat with another little wave of his hand in the direction of a nauseatingly over-patterned couch, but Tony only shot him a cautionary glare. "I think I'll stand." He snapped. "This shouldn't take long."

Looking hurt, Stone sat back in his own chair. "Gosh, Tony." He said, dejection and disappointment in his voice as he watched Tony, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "You're breaking my heart here, buddy, I thought we were cool." And it was so fabricated and so goddamn conceited that Tony was glad he had the suit on because he was shaking with rage inside it.

He clenched his jaw against the string of insults and expletives wishing to escape. "Funny, because last I remember, you were booking a flight to Europe and cursing my existence." The grip around his helmet as he cradled it beneath his arm tightened. "You know, after you tried to steal my mind and leave me as a vegetable."

Stone scoffed and wagged his hand at him, as though Tony's recollection was merely a silly little inside joke that had transpired between them. " _Borrow_ , Tony. I tried to borrow it. I was gonna give it back." He smiled a big toothy grin. Tony wanted to punch him.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked coldly.

Stone flashed him that infuriatingly false bewildered look. "Doing what?"

Rolling his eyes, Tony took a couple of threatening steps toward him. "Oh, I don't know, just putting fucking hits out on me right before you become the goddamn Secretary of Homeland Security!" He shouted and at Stone's horrified look, Tony growled fiercely, certainly looking as intimidating as he felt. "And don't use that innocent bullshit on me, I'm nowhere close to being an idiot. I can see right the fuck through you and the other side looks shitty and treacherous."

There was a deep sigh and Stone settled his chin in his palm as he regarded Tony with that same fucking fake pitied sadness he'd seen on the faces of so many people lately. It took every ounce of self control he possessed to contain his urge to lash out at him. "I'm hurt that you think I'd do that to you." Was his sniveling reply. "We may have parted on less than desirable terms but I've forgiven you since then-"

Tony rolled his eyes. "'Forgiven me'. Right, right-"

"-and even If I  _hadn't_ ," Stone continued, a little louder. "I'd never want you dead, Tony. How am I supposed to beat you at everything you've done if you're dead?"

"First, let me address the 'forgiveness' thing," Tony said, eyebrows furrowed with disbelief and Stone scowled. "Because it's really bothering me that after all this time, your mind has yet to draw some semblance of a logical conclusion about that whole thing-"

"The only conclusion I needed to draw," Stone interrupted coldly, looking like he was ready to stand in his anger. "was that Howard Stark was a cold hearted psycho path-"

"And I'm not entirely in disagreement with you on that!" Tony shouted, wanting to get his point out before the thought was lost among something else ridiculous that Stone decided to regurgitate. "But we were kids, man! I had not a fuck to do with what happened between my dad and Viastone. And I don't have a single thing to be sorry about, so this whole 'forgiven you' thing doesn't sit well with-"

"My dad killed himself." Stone stated stoically, completely out of fucking left field and Tony looked at him like he'd just burst into flame. "I'll bet you didn't know that."

Expression softening, because Tony isn't that much of a jackass, he looked away and chewed his lip. "I did. I  _do_ , I mean." He said, voice lowered. "It was all over the news."

"And yet," Stone said quietly, forlornly, face contorting with sadness. "Not once did you offer any kind of condolences-"

"Because you were in Europe!" Then Tony shook his head angrily, as if to clear the mental cobwebs Stone had just spun there, the dastardly little spider that he was. "Look, I hate to say it like this, but that was then and this is now, and in this now, I have every reason to believe that you've been trying to kill me-"

"And there he goes." Stone said, throwing a hand up as though he was frustrated, voice breaking with false emotion. "Going on and on about yourself, and not giving a  _shit_  about anyone else."

Tony scoffed as he felt a pang of severe annoyance. "You're wasting your breath trying to guilt trip me with something that happened two decades ago." He spat, eyes narrowed and he was just about sick of the whole conversation already.

"Of course, Tony!" Stone shouted, jumping up and approaching Tony aggressively until he was mere inches from him, standing on tip toes to attempt to match his increased height. Tony didn't even flinch as he glared down at him. "Of course, because you don't feel guilt at all, do you? You go through life, reaping the benefits of the back-breaking labor of others, and if someone gets in your way, you remove them. You're just like Howard was."

They stared at each other for a long time, both of them refusing to avert their gazes, both of them wearing matching angry scowls, and Tony was the one to break the painful silence. "I came here to tell you something, Stone." He said quietly, voice heavy with intention and threat. "I came here to let you know that the minute you put the people of this country in any kind of danger will be the minute I end you. And I promise you, buddy; I  _will_  end you."

And then, Stone's face slackened from fury to sadistic glee, throwing Tony completely off and he had to intercept a surprised reaction. "How's it feel to have people out there," Stone hissed, his smile indescribable as anything other than creepy. "Willing to pay so much money just so they can see your name on the cover of every newspaper in the world, on every channel on TV, on magazines in waiting rooms and to hear it on the radio, and all of them... declaring your death?"

The increase in Tony's heart rate had nothing to do with his lack of sleep, water and food as he struggled to maintain his glare. "Sounds like you've thought about it." Every muscle was screaming at him to leave. He suddenly felt very exposed and threatened, Stone's hormonal mood swings having been enough to rattle him. The man was a raving lunatic.

"Oh I have." Stone admitted, grinning and Tony couldn't stop his lips from parting slightly in shocked anticipation of what he knew would come next. Leaning in, Stone's manic grin calmed into a smirk and he whispered; "After all, I was willing to pay ten million dollars to see it happen."

Although Tony had already known beyond much doubt that what Stone had just told him was true, hearing it straight from the maniac's mouth was horrifying. Stone seemed to delight in the way Tony's face twisted in rage as he sauntered past his paralyzed form. His mind raced furiously along with his heart and he distantly heard Stone opening the front door. "You're lucky, Stone." He said, voice shaking with barely contained fury as he turned on his heal and walked to the door. Stone stood there, holding it open and wearing that same creepy fucking smile.

"Oh? And why's that?" He asked as Tony stepped out onto the porch and replaced his helmet.

He paused for a second, before looking over his shoulder, Iron Man's cold, deadly countenance falling upon Stone. "Because I would probably get the death penalty if I murdered a politician." And he rocketed off, cold with terrifying revelation, wondering just where the hell he was supposed to go from there.

When Tony got home, he slept for twenty straight hours, and deemed it a miraculous act of god that no nightmares interrupted him.

* * *

"Talked to Banner." Tony said around a mouthful of bacon, ham, sausage and pepperoni pizza, courtesy of a little pizza joint he gave personal donations to. It was empty that day, save for a certain genius, a super soldier and an archer sitting together at a table in the middle of it, out to celebrate Tony's newly freed hand. "He's flying back in a couple days. Canada's getting a little cold for him."

"I don't blame him." Steve commented as he grabbed his own slice from the large pie in the center of the table. "Not a big fan of the cold myself."

"I'm sure being frozen for seventy years has nothing to do with that." Clint said sarcastically, before taking a long drink from his beer.

Steve shot Clint a look and Tony chuckled lightly at the banter. It had been four days since he'd gone to see Stone and following a small period of relentless anxiety and frustration at his inability to do anything further despite the knowledge he'd gained, Tony had decided that it would be favorable to his mental health to just let it go for the time being. Sit back and watch it unfold. Because, if he was a gambling man, he'd bet Stone was fixing to screw up one way or another. Or so he hoped.

In the mean time, he'd gotten his cast removed, and now enjoyed full mobility of his once injured hand. His bruises had faded significantly, and if he was capable of  _completely_  forgetting Stone and his murderous aspirations, Tony would say he was starting to feel like himself again. He still looked over his shoulder at every little sound, because a pen dropping behind him was obviously a would-be assassin coming for his head, but that was to be expected. Paranoia was a lasting side effect of multiple kidnappings.

"So, you just park that thing outside like it's a damn Honda?" Clint asked, nodding in the direction of the glass entryway, through which Iron Man could be viewed standing guard outside.

Tony wiped his hands, sitting back in his chair and offering a shrug. "Sure. It's fun to watch it trip out the meter maids. They come up and scratch their heads and stare at their little ticket books for like twenty minutes while they try to figure out exactly how to tell Iron Man he's parked illegally."

Clint snorted into his beer and Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head with a smile. "You just love causing as much chaos as possible, don't you?"

"Correction." Tony said, tossing his napkin onto his empty plate and grinning at Steve. "Chaos finds me and I react accordingly."

"Speaking of your propensity for attracting ridiculousness," Clint said, placing his now empty mug on the table and raising an eyebrow at Tony. "Anything happen with Stone since you told us he's been the one putting a price tag on your death? He send you an email or skype you or something?"

Tony frowned. He honestly hadn't really wanted to talk about it, having already exhausted all last ditch efforts at collecting evidence. Upon Stone's confession, he'd promptly alerted Clint and Steve who'd both promised to do their own little bit of digging. But Clint's adventure through SHIELD databases and Steve's awkward conversation with a point of contact he had within the Pentagon had come up as short and empty as a midget stripper on discount night. "No." He said finally, his sour attention turning to the TV bolted to the wall behind Steve. "And honestly I'd rather talk about how wonderfully old-manish those velcro stretch walkers look on Steve's feet. Seriously, did you rob a nursing home for those little nuggets of comedic gold?"

Clint lost it as he looked down to view the source of Tony's jibe and Steve sighed with a sheepish smile. "What? They've got great arch support." He said.

"Sure they do." Clint forced out, wiping tears of laughter from his face. "They'll support you right back into the forties."

Steve rolled his eyes and looked to Tony. "I think we should talk about how Tony wears tennis shoes with suit jackets and calls it stylish."

"Uh-huh." Tony uttered, but he had only barely heard Steve, his focus remaining solely on the muted television. "Hey Carlita, può farmi un favore?"

An elderly woman wiping dust out of a glass behind the counter looked up and smiled sweetly at him. "Si, certamente, Tony."

"Accendere il televisore per me, per favore." The woman aimed a controller and the volume increased to a decent level. "Graize mille." Tony said absently and Steve and Clint shot each other questioning glances before turning in their seats to see just what had Tony so captivated.

Steve groaned loudly at the sight of Tiberius Stone standing behind a podium, the media shoving microphones and recorders in his face. "Tony, c'mon-"

"Shh." Tony snapped, and Steve rolled his eyes.

_"-with my TROJAN program, I promise to enhance the safety of this country by rooting out potential terrorists before they have the opportunity to carry out attacks, and doing so through immediate detection during their initial planning stages. We tend to forget that threats remain right here at home, to our left and right, in friends we thought we knew and trusted. And it takes a few small sacrifices from all of us to prevent these tragedies. We need to stop and ask ourselves; is anything too much when the safety of America's children is at stake? Thank you."_  With that, Stone exited the podium as people in the audience clapped loudly with approval.

"Jesus." Tony breathed, rubbing a hand down his face. "So this is how freedom dies. With thunderous applause."

"TROJAN?" Steve asked, turning to Tony with a questioning expression. "Never heard of it."

Tony shook his head, staring into the floor, mind racing furiously. "Me either... wait." And it hit him like a mac truck, nearly throwing him back with the force of his realization. "Oh my god, that's what was on the thing!"

"Thing?" Steve pressed.

"Yeah the thing, the fucking uh... microchip thing, the schematic." Tony said quickly, eyes wide as they darted around in thought. "It was titled 'TROJAN', and it said- shit, what was it? Something like 'records thought-"

"Uh... guys." Clint chimed in, snapping fingers at them and Tony turned to find him staring at the TV. His gaze shifted-

_"-cyber terrorism and threatening a public official. Police have warned that Stark is most likely armed and extremely dangerous and should not be approached-"_

Tony's blood froze. He watched in horror as grainy security footage of him at Stone's house played. He nearly threw up when a banner appeared declaring 'Tony Stark wanted for terrorism charges'. "Ohhhh  _fuck_." He moaned, slumping back in his chair, unable to move, unable to breathe as Clint and Steve turned scared faces toward him.

"Tony,  _what'd you do_?" Clint whispered, eyes wide and frantic and Tony chuckled madly because the way Clint had whispered was funny for some reason. All he could do was stare at the empty pizza pan as he neared hyperventilation, wondering just how such a good day could turn so shitty so fast. A million thoughts waited for him to process them, bottlenecked at the entrance to his completely overloaded mind. He should run. No, he needed to get Pepper, call her, stash her in a basement somewhere, fucking something. Hide the suits, destroy the evidence of his intrusions into the Pentagon, wipe his browser history (oh god, the things he didn't want them to see) suspend JARVIS, eliminate his personal server, tell Bruce to stay the fuck in Canada-

"Is that- that's here!" He heard Clint exclaim, and he looked to the TV again to find the overhead perspective of a news chopper as it filmed four black MRAPs rolling fast up a street and stopping outside a small building and SWAT teams clad in riot gear and wielding M4s poured out of them-

_"-have located Stark and are moving in-"_

Tony's chair just about toppled over as he stood, and it was so surreal to watch the events occurring on the screen happen in  _real time_  because seconds later, a swarm of officers invaded like a tiny little fucking army, kicking over tables and smashing windows and just doing everything unnecessary and ridiculous that they could. And soon, Tony was the target of about twenty fully loaded assault rifles.

He just stood there, shaking as his eyes scanned the rows of rifle barrels, aware of Clint and Steve coming to stand close to him. One officer stepped forward. Tony swallowed roughly. "Anthony Stark, I'm placing you under arrest for committing acts of terrorism against the United States. Lay on the ground and place your hands behind your head."


	5. Prayer of the Refugee

Beyond the shattered restaurant entrance, he saw a squad of officers surround the Iron Man, barrels of loaded weapons pointed at it as though they truly believed bullets would _not_ just ping off its impenetrable hide.

He distantly heard Carlita scream and yell a string of angry Italian curses at them for destroying her family's restaurant. Guilt settled like a stone in his gut.

The SWAT teams remained aggressive and threatening all around him, buttstocks of high-powered, semi-automatic assault rifles set deep into broad shoulders, their muzzles trained on him in a way which assured no cross-fire. His quick mind rapidly counted twenty-seven of them.

Steve and Clint were a strong presence behind him, standing on either side of him and although he couldn't see them, he certainly felt more secure than he would've had he been ambushed alone.

And Tony was an anxious mess in the middle of it all. Hands shook and he clenched them into fists at his sides, something he knew he probably shouldn't do when under such intense scrutiny. But he definitely did _not_ want them all to see how absolutely terrified he was. Regardless of the situation, he had a public image to uphold.

"Officer, what specific charges am I being detained for?" he asked, voice cool, mellow, low and expressing everything he was currently feeling the opposite of. Standing there with his brow furrowed and his jaw set, Tony looked quite fierce. Inside, he was a cowering little bunny.

"Committing cyber terrorism by means of accessing classified military data systems with malicious intent, and blatantly threatening a public official," the officer standing directly in front of him elaborated sternly. "I'm going to ask you one more time to place your hands behind your head. Don't make this difficult, Mr. Stark."

Of course. The Pentagon. His visit with Stone. Tony wanted to smack himself for his own stupidity.

Every muscle in his body tensed up at the sight of a pair of handcuffs, extracted from a small pouch on the officer's pistol belt, and every primal instinct he possessed told him to flee. His eyes darted to the suit and back in a microscopic flicker. It would be too easy to initiate a debilitating flash, blinding everyone in the general vicinity momentarily, and permitting time for Tony to escape. It would be too easy. But then again, with civilians present...

"Tony," Steve whispered next to him, and Tony jerked a little, turning his head toward the voice only slightly to maintain sight of the sea of rifles, "don't do anything stupid." 

"You’re kidding me, right? It would be _stupid_ to allow myself to be arrested." Tony snapped under his breath. "You and I both know what this is."

"I know, but- Tony, just look at the TV." Tony shot a glance over towards the television and was graced with a close up of himself, standing in the middle of all that chaos. He turned back to regard the news crews, which lingered outside a good distance away from the action like expectant vultures waiting for their prey to die, with intense hatred. "America's watching," Steve clarified his position on the matter and Tony's heart sank. Of course he couldn’t run. Obviously, America thought Tony to be a dangerous criminal… and obviously, an arrest is what they wanted. "Just go for now, we'll figure something out, okay?"

"I don't like this, Cap," Clint chimed in on Tony’s other side, his hushed voice sounding wary. "Terrorism charges are no fucking joke."

Tony knew this. Shit, every American who’d been alive for more than a few minutes knew this. Legitimate arrest warrant or not, Tony understood exactly what awaited him should he go quietly. But he also understood what life had in store should he not. And on top of that, what was currently at stake.

Tony was an Avenger. It was stated pretty specifically in his job description that he had a duty to uphold the safety of civilians, despite the amount of bodily harm that could potentially befall him. A frenzied shootout in a tiny Pizzeria would put his team mates, and more importantly, Carlita in danger. And he would never forgive himself if anyone was injured because of him. It was an unacceptable outcome. He knew what he had to do and so did his team. Tony was cornered and he had to make the sacrifice play.

"Cap's right," Tony relented, expression softening into something resembling surrender. Or maybe even hopelessness. He could practically feel Clint's shocked, wide eyes burning a hole into the back of his head. "Steve, go back to the tower immediately and tell JARVIS to initiate phase one of Protocol Four-Two-Seven. You know the one."

"I’ve got you, Tony," Steve whispered back, and reached up to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. Tony nearly flinched at the unexpected contact in his discomfort and dread. "Hang in there. We're going to try and figure this out as fast as possible."

"Right," Tony said dejectedly, "hope you know what you're doing, team leader."

“Fuck,” Clint cursed furiously, “goddammit, Tony, _don’t_ -“ Tony felt the slightest brush of skin against his arm.

"Clint, let’s go," Steve said, tone sharp and commanding, and after a few more muttered curses, Tony heard them step back from him and walk away. There were heated whispers of protest as they tried to convince Carlita to go with them, but she eventually gave in, and they all left through the kitchen. He nodded to himself, satisfied for only a fleeting moment, before nerves twisted relentlessly in his gut, and a vicious disquiet dominated all other emotion.

Heart pounding, saliva catching on the anxious lump in his throat as he swallowed, Tony slowly raised his hands and interlaced his fingers on the back of his head. He nodded to the officer. "I hope arresting an Avenger gives you a nice, pretty bullet on your evaluation this year, Sergeant," he said coldly.

The officer sighed as he slung his weapon across his back and approached Tony. "Mr. Stark, I'm just following orders," he said, moving behind Tony and gripping his index fingers tightly to perpetuate the illusion of total control.

"Yeah. That's what the Nazis said at the Nuremberg Trials." This statement caused the officer to pause. In that breathless minute, Tony had the irrational thought that perhaps this sergeant would let him go, maybe even grow a conscious and realize that what he was doing was _wrong_ in every aspect of the word. But no such luck, Tony realized, when a strong hand on his shoulder forced him roughly to his knees, and then to the floor, grunting when his face was slammed unceremoniously into the tile. 

Unnecessary police brutality. How terribly cliché.

A knee settled into the small of his back, pressing painfully against just barely healed ribs, and Tony groaned. “Hey, lay off, Tonto,” he ground out, but the officer ignored him, and the knee remained a steady, crushing pressure. One wrist was cuffed, pulled behind his back, and then connected with the other. And Tony took a second to reflect on how far out of the norm his life was.

Seriously, how did he manage get himself into situations like this? How was it that his life was now so bogged down with odd occurrences that sudden normalcy and quiet seemed out of place? Given everything he’d been through, one would think he’d be just about used to gods falling from the sky, portals to different dimensions opening above his home, and wonton arrests by roving SWAT teams. Although he had to admit, being labeled a terrorist was a new personal achievement for him.

"You got any weapons on you?" the sergeant asked gruffly as fingers rifled through the pockets of Tony's jeans, withdrawing his phone and wallet and laying them off to the side.

"No, but there's a big one standing in the space, there," Tony said, lifting his head and nodding toward the suit, around which a crowd of officers had congregated, clearly finding it more interesting than Tony himself. "Although I wouldn't suggest touching it. It's got a few defensive mechanisms in place to prevent unauthorized poking and prodding." 

The officer ignored him, continuing his pat down and making Tony terribly uncomfortable in his prone, defenseless position as hands slid across his body without reservation. It was enough to make his skin crawl. "What about that thing in your chest?" he asked with no emotional inflection whatsoever.

"Not a weapon, unless you try to take it from me," Tony said, and thought momentarily that he should _probably_ clarify that answer- before something else came to him; "Aren't you supposed to read me my Miranda rights or something along those lines?" he inquired, grunting as he was lifted to his knees and allowed to sit cross legged on the ground, quite an uncomfortable position while he was in handcuffs. He glared up at the officer.

"No rights are afforded to those accused of terrorist activity under the National Defense Authorization Act and in conjunction with the Patriot Act," the officer said, unslinging his weapon and holding it at the low-ready. Standing guard over his prisoner.

Tony raised his eyebrows at him. "Wow. That sucks," he said, voice shaking slightly, because, although he'd been vaguely familiar with the two pieces of legislation mentioned, he certainly hadn't known such dubious language existed within them. What a horrifying prospect. An American citizen with no rights to speak of. "Not at all something that could be abused, eh Sergeant?"

"That's above my pay-grade to decide," he grumbled.

Tony chuckled nervously at the typical politically correct answer. "Sure it is," he said, shrugging in solidarity with his guard’s uncaring attitude. "So, is this the part where I sit here awkwardly for like, a year while you guys decide what to do with lil' ole me?"

"You know, you _do_ still have the right to remain silent," the officer snapped back, shifting his weapon in his hands, possibly intending to be threatening, but the action proved unsuccessful in rattling Tony any more than he already was.

Tony offered a smirk and shook his head. "The right, but not the _ability_ , I'm afraid," he said with mock forlorn and grinned when the officer sighed deeply. It was _his_ fault, really. At times of great stress, there was nothing Tony did better than run his mouth, and the Sergeant happened to be a source of great stress for him at that moment. Therefore, he was also the unfortunate target of Tony's incessant, anxious babbling.

"Hey JARVIS, go ahead and send the suit home before those people get themselves hurt," Tony called through the shattered windows.

The SWAT teams were crowding the suit just a little too closely for Tony's comfort. It possessed a plethora of relatively harmless defensive abilities, but he doubted the officers would take too kindly to being zapped or gassed, and he knew JARVIS would not hesitate to deploy them against his creator's captors. Not to mention the assembly of curious bystanders which had accumulated around the front of the restaurant, held at bay only by a tentative police line. However humorous it would be, he didn't need additional charges on top of the ones they were already accusing him of.

"Right away, sir," JARVIS' voice replied from within the suit, startling the curious gaggle, and they all raised their weapons as they backed away. Tony almost laughed at the shear futility of their actions. "Do try not to antagonize too much." There was sad apprehension in JARVIS’ voice. He didn’t want to leave Tony, but he also trusted that Tony knew what was for the best.

Tony smiled and watched with concealed despair as his good friend, and only hope of escape, engaged its thrusters and flew away into the setting sun, soon to be hidden and disassembled under Protocol Four-Two-Seven. It physically hurt to think about the amount of drastic, unalterable fail-safes this particular contingency plan would put into action, and all the work that would be undone because of it. 

"You know, that carries an additional charge of obstructing justice." The Sergeant said stoically, hauling Tony to his feet with a hand beneath his arm, and leading him forward. Tony didn’t respond. He couldn’t care any less about such a petty charge, especially now, as things were becoming far too real for him to pay mind to trivialities.

Broken glass crunched beneath Tony’s shoes, the sharp sound muffled by the blood that pounded in his ears, an ominous tune in sync with his racing heart. He stumbled through the shattered frame of what was once the entrance to the little Pizzeria, in which he had been enjoying a celebratory dinner with his two good friends, not even twenty minutes before.  

It really was incredible, how quickly things could turn to shit.

The careless façade Tony displayed was beginning to melt away at the sight of the innards of the enormous riot vehicle he was led to. This was it. And the handcuffs were just tight enough to be painful. No escape. He felt as though he was being kidnapped again and he suddenly found himself short of breath in his panic. _Fuck_. He hoped he didn't have some sort of freak out in the back of that MRAP.

And he hoped his last resort was still intact after the rough arrest. 

Because god only knew what awaited him on the other side. He avoided looking at the whispering crowd, which grew steadily as minutes passed. Fear was not something he wished the citizens of New York to see glinting in his eyes.

Tony was shaking subtly as three officers stepped in before him and quickly occupied the benches within. The step into the vehicle was three feet tall and achieving such a height was difficult with his hands cuffed behind him, but he managed with a grunt and a bit of help from the officer who'd arrested him. They directed him to sit and he did, between two burly men clad in gray and black armor, helmets obscuring their faces, depersonalizing their presence. The arresting officer slammed the doors shut, leaving them in total darkness. 

"We've acquired the package. Now proceeding en-route to designated drop off point," he heard someone say. And just what the fuck was that about? 

Wide, frantic eyes searched the dark for faces as the vehicle jolted into motion. Tony definitely was not a fan of sensory deprivation. "So, I guess bribery's out of the question," he said, fishing for a voice, _any_ voice, and encountered stern silence in response. He ran a thumb lightly over the inside of his left wrist and was relieved to find that what he was looking for was still there. A tiny, flesh-colored packet of various powdered metals. The last resort.

Tony was also not a fan of handcuffs and he'd learned a thing or two since he was last in them. And _no_ , it wasn’t paranoia, dammit, it was proper planning, a means of mitigation developed through unfortunate experience. If he lived through this, he was going to give Steve the biggest ‘I told you so’…

The ride persisted like that for about an hour, all of them maintaining tense silence, broken only by the wail of the vehicles sirens, and his eyes never _did_ adapt properly to the darkness. It was almost artificial in its stifling consistency, thick and powerful, and he was sure if he spent too long in there, he’d lose his otherworldly control and lash out at the first thing within reach.

Finally, the vehicle stopped, and Tony's heart leapt into his mouth. He forced it vehemently back down behind the arc reactor with a ragged swallow. 

Someone opened the doors, and thankfully is was dark out already, because he was absolutely certain he would've been blinded by any sudden influx of light after spending so much time in relentless blackness. Cool, October air caressed his face, a relieving, soothing touch against sweaty skin. An officer grabbed him by his bicep and forced him to stand, leading him to the open doors and the damn _cliff_ he had to jump off to exit the vehicle.

"This doesn't look like downtown, boys," he commented warily as he righted himself following his jump, and glanced around, two officers appearing on either side of him to hold his biceps prisoner in identical iron grips. They'd parked on the edge of an empty wheat field, and in the distance, he could see the looming shadows of trees outlining the border of a dense forest. To his left, a series of headlights flashed on, and Tony hissed and clenched his eyes shut against the onslaught of unexpected brightness.

He didn't like this at all.

Finally able to open his eyes to a squint, Tony shot a furious, glare over toward the source of his pain. There were three other vehicles parked there, seemed to have been sitting there long before Tony arrived, black SUVs not unlike the ones Happy used to drive him around in.

Then Tony nearly seized with shock when he saw Tiberius Stone exit the passenger side of one of them, a smug toothy grin on his handsome, batshit crazy face.

Oh, _hell_ no. Stone making a personal appearance as Tony was being arrested was the absolute _last_ straw in this bundle of multi-colored crazy straws Tony called his life. There was no further question in his mind regarding the true purpose behind such a gutsy move. 

Tony immediately pressed the packet of metals on his wrist, wincing when he felt the spark and the resulting burn of the magnesium fuse igniting, even through the fire retardant substance he'd painted beneath it. It would take a minute to work, he knew. Hopefully he _had_ a minute.

"Ah, Stark." Stone said, shaking his head as he walked up to Tony, who squared his shoulders and stood as tall as possible with his wrists confined as they were. "I gotta say, I labored for a long time over how I could take you out of the game and make it believable, but you did my work for me." He stopped mere inches from Tony's face.

Tony scowled at him.

“This isn’t a goddamn game,” he said, not really caring to continue the conversation, but wishing to drag it out long enough for his little contingency plan to take effect, “this is real life, and these are real people you’ve got all this undeserved power over.” He could feel the molten fingers of liquid fire traveling down the cuff, devouring everything on its way to the chain, burning his inner wrist, and making him sweat with the effort of not reacting to it. “I’m just gonna be honest with you. You’d probably serve a better purpose scraping shit out of porta-pottys, if you need a way to justify your pitiful existence, that is.”     
  
Then, Stone slapped him. Like, actually _slapped_ him, the back of his hand striking Tony’s face surprisingly hard and whipping his head to the side with the force of it. Tony released a breathy, unamused laugh before spitting out a mouthful of fresh blood, and turning to face his antagonist with an incredulous smile. So, he wanted to go down this road, huh? Tony could take this road.

Stone’s face was expressionless. Tony would be the first to admit that the absolute lack of any emotion whatsoever on Stone’s face startled him a little. The man wasn’t angry, in fact, he almost looked like he was engaged in an activity that bored him. Inside his eyes though, Tony could see something sinister glinting. “If only you knew where you were going, Stark, you wouldn’t even think of disrespecting me,” he said, voice even and controlled.

Tony grunted out a single chuckle. “I may not know where I’m going, but I’ll make sure to continuously remind you that you’re about as useful as a white crayon. Your mind is about as put together as a soup sandwich. You make as much sense as a football bat and you’re as hopelessly lost as a bastard on father’s day-“

The next blow was harder, and Tony stumbled a little, allowing the officers to right him. Perhaps the one-liner about father’s day was a low blow, but it had tumbled from his mouth before he even knew what he was saying. Then again, who gave a shit about this maniac’s feelings?

“Sir…,” he heard one of the officers say with a hint of warning. Apparently, smacking a prisoner around was still a no-no, regardless of terrorist status. But Stone, buffered by the appearance of his own two goons, didn’t seem to hear him, or didn’t _want_ to hear him, and he smacked Tony again, pulling a grunt from deep within his throat and Tony promised himself that it was the only sound Stone was going to get from him.

Tony’s smile disappeared, replaced by a deep, hateful scowl and he spat at Stone’s feet, a glob of blood from his busted lip landing square on his shoe.

Now Stone was angry, and he lifted his leg to regard his sullied shoe with disgust, the expensive leather, previously so prim and polished, now coated in Tony’s blood and saliva. There was a certain amount of satisfaction there that Tony felt he deserved to enjoy.

With a furious growl, Stone pulled his flattened hand back for another blow, and Tony just smirked at him, because the chemical reaction occurring behind him, the one he counted on with every fiber in his being, was almost complete. Almost.

“Secretary Stone,” the officer to Tony’s right said sharply, and Stone paused, his hand still resting up by his face, poised to strike Tony hard as he could, “I can’t allow you to abuse this prisoner, and should it continue, I’m required by law to revoke your custodial privileges.”

Stone scoffed, lowering his hand, and frowning like he wished to redirect his attack towards the intervening officer. Tony couldn’t help but admire the courage it must have taken for that officer to stand up to the goddamn Secretary of Homeland Security, no matter how much of a sham he may be. He almost felt bad for what he was about to do to him.

“You don’t possess the authority to make a call like that, _Officer,”_ Stone said, with mocking emphasis on the word ‘officer’, and glaring daggers at the man. “It would take an act of congress to revoke-“

“Sir,” the officer interrupted, displaying a commendable amount of respectful patience as he spoke, “I’ve read the document, I know what it says, and you don’t have proper authority to-“

“You want authority?” Stone spat, becoming dangerously irate, face contorting with his rage, and Tony wanted nothing more than to just get out of the fucking way. “How about, I have the _authority_ to pull your badge, and I wouldn’t even bat a goddamn eyelash as I sign-“

The officer interrupted again, slinging regulations and doctrine at Stone like verbal arrows, but Tony didn’t have senses for anything other than his wrists. With one small tug, the weakened chain between the cuffs snapped, and they fell to the grass, soon to become nothing more than a molten lump.

A wave of anxiety and excitement nearly drowned him. His world grayed out and he stood there with his arms behind him for just one fearful moment, wondering if this was the route he wanted to take, debating whether it would make more sense just to go with Stone, and wait for Cap, and a small army of lawyers to sort this shit storm out.

But that could take months. He’d be dead by then.

And the country would be held like a bug in the tyrannical fist of Tiberius Stone.

The grip on his right bicep loosened as the officer holding it fought a verbal battle against Stone’s insanity, and Tony’s awareness blurred back into existence with the physical stimulus. It was now or never.

With one smooth motion, Tony kicked the officer to his left in the leg, breaking it at the knee, and when the man let go of his arm with a ragged scream, Tony whipped around, taking the other officer’s arm in both hands and hyperextending it at the elbow. It was necessary brutality, and the increased chances of escape that came with rendering them incapacitated, were more than worth it.  

As the two officers clutched at their injuries, yelling and screaming a series of vulgarities, a very important moment of confusion descended on the rest of them, and Tony used it to his advantage. “Thermite,” he said with a smirk, a quick response to Stone’s shocked sputtering, before springing forward and landing a vicious blow to his jaw, “incendiary reaction, eats through metal.” Tony watched Stone crumple to the ground with a cry somewhere between outrage, pain and unabashed bewilderment.

And that was when fire tore through is right shoulder.

Tony had mere seconds to register that he’d just been shot, and even less time to find out who had fired. Furious eyes darted around the scene and he located the perpetrator, a body guard ten feet directly in front of him, aiming a nine millimeter pistol at his torso. _Fuck!_

Another shot rang out, shattering the otherwise peaceful night, and Tony ducked, rolling just in time to avoid the potentially fatal bullet, and he took off as fast as his damaged heart would allow, sprinting toward the trees, body and mind focused on one thing; get the _fuck_ away from there. 

“Don’t shoot!” he heard Stone screaming from behind him and for once, Tony agreed. For the love of god, _please don’t shoot_. “Go after him, you morons, I need him alive!”

That instantly put a pep in Tony’s step. His heart threatening to burst in his chest became a negligible consequence, and he tore through the swaying wheat, willing his current momentum to last until he at least reached the trees. Gasping with a potent mixture of terror and physical exertion, Tony noted the thumping of boots far behind him as the other officers and bodyguards gave chase, and the two-hundred meters remaining between him and the forest suddenly felt so much further. Like a canyon existed there, and he had to jump it.

Another gunshot and a round exploded into the ground to his left, a tactic meant to disorient and unbalance him, and dirt shot upward in a large plume, a miniature mushroom cloud. Tony cried out in surprise, stumbled briefly but righted himself. And when he _finally_ hit the forest, and the safety blanket of darkness and cover it provided, he didn’t dare slow down.

Tony ran for what seemed like hours, skirting around trees, tripping over roots and downed branches. The voices following him faded, and with the realization that they had probably lost him in the darkness, he sought out a tall, dense pine and scrambled up it. He found a thick branch near the middle and settled there, lungs burning for oxygen, chest heaving to provide it and shoved a trembling fist into his mouth to stifle his gasping. His other hand covered the arc reactor, blotting out the light.

If they were to find him there, then he could do nothing about it. Please, god, let this work.

Panic wrung the very life out of his overworked heart when he heard the crunching of twigs and leaves beneath heavy boots below and he bit into his hand so hard, he broke skin. Jesus, they were _right underneath him_ and the galloping footsteps sounded like war drums. But by some miracle, they missed him.

Tony only allowed himself to breathe once they had all run by, their thunderous steps disappearing into the night, following the presumed path of a non-existent man.

Tony waited ten minutes before daring to remove his fist from between his teeth. The process of slowing his heart rate through means of deep breathing was a moot endeavor. He found it funny that kissing death in his suit was a much more palatable experience than doing so outside it. And _man_ , was he going to be sore tomorrow. 

With a quiet groan, Tony let his head tilt back, meaning to rest it on the massive trunk of the tree that had just saved his life, when searing agony shot down his arm. Transforming his loud cry quickly into a low, low moan was the work of gods.

Now he remembers. He must have blocked out the pain as he’d ran. Gunshot wound. Just fucking peachy.

Blood was soaking through his shirt, and he didn’t truly realize how badly he actually _was_ bleeding until he felt wetness all along his shirt sleeve, and before he could stop it, a few crimson droplets collected at his elbow and fell to the forest floor.

“Shit,” he cursed quietly, frustrated that his temporary hiding spot had been compromised in such short a time. They knew Tony had been shot and they would be looking for a trail of blood, would be _sniffing_ it out, maybe even bring dogs out here to scour the area.

There was no time to take comfort into account.

Hoping that the thick needles of the pine would provide him adequate concealment, Tony bit his lip, and groaned softly through the painful process of removing his shirt. He spared the wound a glance, taking note of the small hole just beneath his collar bone, surrounded by angry, red shredded flesh. In the light of the arc reactor, he could see that it was not a through-and-through, and a small, fairly consistent rivulet of blood seeped out from around the torturous, molded lead embedded in his shoulder.

Watching the small descent of blood down his chest made him feel ill, so he shook himself from his morbidly curious stupor, and ripped half of the dry sleeve off his shirt. Removing the bullet here was out of the question, and he had very little time in which to act, so there was only one thing to do.

Tony took a deep breath. This was gonna _suck_.

Packing the fabric into the wound was so painful, he nearly passed out. Breathing through the pain was not enough, and he had to take breaks periodically to keep himself from falling right out of the damn tree. Tears sprang to his eyes, unbidden and certainly unwelcome, but dammit, this _hurt_. It burned in a way he’d never experienced before, and the feeling of the round shifting inside him was a unique type of agony.

A relieved groan escaped him when the flow of blood was finally staunched, and he leaned back against the rough surface of the tree trunk, panting, sweating and shivering in the suddenly too cool air. He knew he had to leave, he knew those men were out there looking for him, but… just a minute… just a minute… Glossy eyes slipped shut, exhaustion overcoming rational thought. He was so tired.

But they snapped back open just as quickly. Fuck, there was _no time for this_.

Unwilling to negligently waste another precious second, Tony pulled his ragged shirt back on, dulling the glow of the arc reactor once more, and began his slow, careful descent down the tree. When he reached the forest floor, he buried the blood he’d let drip from him, before taking no more than thirty seconds to orient himself. Persevering through agony, exhaustion, and creeping dehydration, Tony took a deep breath, molded the pained lines in his face into ones of fierce determination and began heading south through the black of that chilly October night.

He needed to get to the highway. 


End file.
